Children of the Nation
by The-Charcoal-Alchemist
Summary: Did you know nations were capable of having children? Neither did they. Rated for safety.
1. Chapter 1

Hetalia does NOT belong to me - this idea, however, does. XD I understand that this could be a controversial idea, but please, don't flame me just to tear it down.

If you really don't agree with this idea, please tell me why - and don't just say "because it's not canon!". There's very little that _isn't_ canon in Hetalia, and there's a lot of room to move, too.

If you have any suggestions as to plot holes I've missed, or what you think could improve the overall story, please tell me! ^_^ There's always room to improve, and I'd love to hear your thoughts!

* * *

The alarm clock was the last thing he wanted to hear right now.

Blue eyes cracked open to glare at the offending device, and the green digits glowing painfully bright against the dark face. A hand snaked out from beneath warm covers and banged the snooze button, forceful enough to unintentionally crack the plastic casing. A hiss of pain and the hand was snatched back, its owner sitting bolt up right to suck on the small gash.

"Shit…." The young man swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, dragging a blanket with him in his rush for the bathroom first aid kit. "This sucks…" He groaned as he daubed away the blood. Fortunately, the gash was just a shallow little thing. Unfortunately, he was out of normal Band-Aids.

Cursing the fact that this Monday was following the trend of all those before it, the young man taped a cotton strip over the gash, then wrapped a few layers of gauze around it to keep it in place. He held the dressing up to the light and scrutinized it for a moment. With any luck, his manager wouldn't notice the added padding beneath his glove tonight.

The young man stood up and shuffled back to the bedroom, sleep forgotten in the wake of the abrupt adrenaline rush. He frowned at the cracked alarm, and the small smear of red blood on the jagged edge of the black plastic. He'd have to replace that before the week was out. With a sigh, he tossed the blanket back onto the bed and moved to get dressed. He had a long day ahead, and he might as well get started.

An hour later, the young man was rushing out the door, pulling a well-worn army jacket over his shoulders as he skidded around the corner of the apartment building. He dashed down the alley an swung around the next corner by hanging on the gutter; the rusty metal creaked warningly, but held firm, as it did every day when the young man was running late.

Shaking rust flakes off his fingers, the young man stopped beside a scratched, dented, and well-used Kawasaki Ninja Z750, painted red beneath the caked on mud and grime. Despite the obvious wear, the engine still roared to life when the young man climbed on and started it up. Tires squealed pavement as he hurried out from behind the apartment complex, and turned onto the street beyond, already five minutes late for work.

Hours later, he was beginning to think that, just maybe, gauze had been a bad idea.

So far, he'd broken three dishes, two cups, and thrown a silverware set underneath the front podium because the material stuck to the wrapping on his hand. Already feeling the beginnings of exhaustion, he took more time clearing an empty table after that, careful to keep the gauze from touching the dishware. Up until the lunch rush, that had been his only problem.

Did you know gauze was flammable? He hadn't. Nor had he known that the radiant heat from the old stone ovens in the back of the kitchen could spark a flame.

Now, he contemplated this as he sat in the back, suffering some halfway deserved verbal abuse from his manager as the woman layered pad upon numbing gel pad onto the (now burned) gash, before wrapping it with a (thankfully nonflammable) ACE bandage, and tossing him back out onto the floor. There were no painkillers of any sort on site at the small cafe, so he had to simply gut through the rest of his shift. The lunch rush had tapered off, and all he had left to do was clear away the tables. Then, if twenty minutes went by with no new customers, he could leave.

* * *

Alfred F. Jones was bored.

Not that the condition was uncommon, mind you. As easily as his mind could jump from new topic to new topic, he could just as easily lose interest. The personification of the United States of America glanced around the meeting room, noting that it was in its usual state of chaos. England was trying to strangle France, Russia was scooting closer and closer to China (creepy commie bastard), Greece was asleep (as per usual) Feliciano was whining about being hungry, and Germany looked as though he desperately wanted to bash his head against the edge of the large table.

A devious smirk crossed America's face, and he scooted his chair back ever so slowly. Nobody seemed to notice, so he pushed back a little further, until his knees had cleared the table. With more stealth than most would give him credit for, America slid to his feet and sidled toward the meeting room doors.

"Al, where are you going?" America froze and looked back with a wide-eyed deer-in-the-headlight look. Canada leveled him with a flat, but not confrontational look. "You really can't wait until the break?"

"Another two hours?" America made a show of looking desperate. "Mattie, I can't stand another minute in here!" He brightened up. "Don't worry, though. I'll be sure to bring you back something from McDonald's!"

"But Alfr-" The doors swung shut before Canada could finish. The northern nation sighed and sat back in his seat, sinking dejectedly. "He never listens, Kuma…." He muttered to the polar bear occupying his lap. The bear yawned and looked up with sleepy black eyes.

"Who?"

"Canada."

Once outside the conference center, Alfred realized that he had no real destination in mind. Sure, he could go to McDonald's (he was kind of hungry, now that he'd brought it up), but even he liked a little variety, and he knew all the good places to eat in D.C. Grinning, the blonde nation started walking down the sidewalk.

There was this really nice one a few blocks down the road that he used to visit all the time. He hadn't been there since the world meetings had started. They had the best burgers in the area! Now having made himself hungry, Alfred darted through a crosswalk just before the light changed, and, ignoring the cars that honked in frustration behind him, hurried on to the restaurant.

* * *

The bell on the door chimed. The young man cringed, but deposited his stack of dishes behind the counter and trudged back to the counter, where an older blonde in a brown bomber jacket had taken a seat. The young man put on a forced smile as he approached, picking up a notepad and pencil from a shelf beneath the counter.

"Hi!" He chimed. "Welcome to the McDonald's! My name is Nathan, how can I help you?" The man looked up. For a second, Nathan felt as though he were looking into a mirror. Those blue eyes…that hair….even the glasses….Then the man grinned.

"Hey! I'm Alfred! I'll have two hamburgers, please! And a large Coke!" Illusion broken, Nathan blinked.

"Ah, yes, sir!" He paused to write down the order, struggling momentarily to keep the pad balanced in his injured hand. Alfred caught sight of the injury and frowned.

"Ouch. How'd that happen?" Nathan paused.

"Ahh….a series of painful events…" He sighed. "In which I discovered that medical gauze is flammable."

"It is?"

"Yeah, I didn't know, either." Nathan tore off the order and smiled. "You're food will be out in a few minutes, sir, and I'll be right back with your Coke." He turned to leave.

"Alfred." Nathan paused and looked back.

"Huh?" The older man smiled brightly.

"Just call me Alfred. You're new here, aren't you?" Nathan nodded.

"Yes, sir. Just started this month."

"I come down here all the time, so you can just call me Alfred!"

"….okay, Alfred," Nathan chuckled. "I'll be right back with that Coke."

* * *

Without giving too much of a spoiler, I think you can tell who Nattie is. XD And just to let y'all know, the McDonald's Alfred went to (and where Nattie works) is one of the few McDonald's where you can sit down and have the waiter come to you. ^_^ I've never been to one, myself...but that would be nice.


	2. Chapter 2

Second chapter! ^_^ Hetalia is STILL NOT mine...sadly. Now, this chapter is a little shorter than the last, but I don't want to unintentionally put all my story into a few giant chapters. XD

* * *

The rest of his shift passed by surprisingly quick.

Before he knew it, it was almost time for him to clock out. Nathan actually felt a little regretful; not that he wasn't eager to get home and get some _painkillers_ for this _damned burn_, but he'd spent the better part of the last hour chatting with Alfred, and it had been…dare he say 'enjoyable'? Usually, he didn't talk with customers - most were too busy to pay him much mind (or tip him much, really, no matter the level of service), so he ignored them in turn. But Alfred seemed to go out of his way to engage the younger man, who found he couldn't, in good conscience, turn him down.

For some reason, it felt like he knew Alfred. Nathan couldn't place how, though - maybe they'd met on the streets outside? Or had they met here in the cafe before, and neither had remembered? Whatever the case, talking to Alfred felt like talking with family. The guy's attitude was contagious - if he were smiling, you were, too. Even though they'd only known each other for an hour or two, Nathan really felt like he could trust the older man. Alfred was incredibly cheery and optimistic, and seemed to have a spontaneously creative solution for everything. Nathan smiled quietly. It was almost like talking to his mother…

At this thought, his smile slipped a little, and he realized that Alfred and his mother had absolutely no connection. The older man noticed the slight change in the younger's posture and made a face. Leaning forward, he poked Nathan in the forehead, just below that odd little curl of his that just wouldn't lie flat (like his nantucket, almost!). The younger man jumped and blinked in confusion. Alfred giggled childishly. "Dude, welcome back to Earth. Got any souvenirs for me?" Nathan smiled apologetically.

"Er, sorry….I guess I spaced out there…" Alfred waved one hand, brushing off the apology like he'd brush dust off a car.

"No worries, kid! I can tell you my super awesome idea tomorrow." He gestured at the Coca-Cola clock on the wall behind the counter. "I've gotta get back, before Iggy notices I disappeared."

"Ah…your British buddy, right?"

"Right!" Alfred nodded with a bright smile as he stood up, having paid his bill over thirty minutes ago. "Hey, when do you get off?"

"Approximately?" Nathan glanced at the clock. "Twenty minutes ago. Why?"

"Which way to you head home from here?"

"North…I parked my bike in a lot about three blocks away, closer toward the Kellogg Conference center."

"Awesome! We can walk together!" Alfred's grin widened and he pulled Nathan out of his seat before he could protest. "The Conference center's where I'm headed, anyway! Come on! Follow the Hero!"

* * *

Arthur Kirkland was furious.

The world meeting had been adjourned over an hour ago, shortly after a certain world superpower had been discovered missing. Almost all the other nations had returned to their hotel to get away from the day's stressful events, excluding Arthur, Matthew, and Francis, who hung around strictly to watch the American get ripped into when he inevitably returned.

Canada leaned against the wall outside the Kellogg Conference center, watching people pass by on the street. Behind him, Arthur continued to rant about all the different ways he'd tear 'that ungrateful, irresponsible brat' a new one, while Francis giggled all the while. The young Canadian sighed. Why hadn't Alfred just listened to him in the first place and stayed? At least then he would've gotten out early with_out_ any verbal abuse from the Englishman.

Down the street, an engine roared. The sudden noise broke what had been a quiet city silence, and all three nations turned toward the source. After a minute or two, a battered red stunt cycle pulled up to the sidewalk, a grinning American on the back. "Wow!" He burst out as the slightly shorter driver dropped the kickstand. "You really fly on this thing! You sure that was legal?"

"We were under the speed limit." The driver chuckled. "Had we been going any slower, a cop could've pulled us over for holding up traffic."

"Huh. Go figure!" Alfred hopped off the bike, then seemed to finally notice the three familiar faces awaiting him. "Oh, hi guys!" He waved.

"Where the bloody hell were you, you wanker?" Arthur exploded. "The meeting ended an hour ago! And who said you could sneak out early!" Alfred held up his hands defensively.

"Geez, Iggy, calm down! I was hungry - I just went to get food." He smiled, almost apologetic. "And…I got caught up talking to Nattie here!" The rider turned around and lifted the visor of his helmet.

"Excuse me? Since when are we on a silly-nickname-basis?"

"Since just now." Alfred grinned. "You call me Al, and I'll call you Nattie!"

"I'd prefer just 'Nat' or 'Nathan'…"

"Nattie it is!" The rider sighed. "But if you're gonna be all picky about it…" Alfred turned to the other three nations. "Mattie, Iggy, Francis, this is Nathan Cameron. Nattie, this is Arthur, Francis, and Matthew - he's my twin!" The rider waved.

"Pleasure." He reached up and unclipped his helmet, pulling it off. "Sorry I kept him so long - I didn't mean to get him in trouble or anything." After a minute's stunned silence, in which no-one moved, Francis leaned forward to whisper in Arthur's ear,

"_Il ressemble voyant double_…_mon cher_, is there something you never told me?" Arthur elbowed the Frenchman harshly in the ribs, driving him back.

"Mind out of the gutter, for once, frog!" He growled. "It's just a bloody coincidence." Both Alfred and Nathan grinned cluelessly.

"What's coincidence?" They asked in unison. Matthew tightened his grip on Kumajirou.

"Jeez…..have you two actually looked at each other?" He asked quietly. Nation and human obediently looked at one another.

"….what are we supposed to notice?" Alfred blinked.

"You bloody git, look at him!" Arthur snarled. "You two could be bloody twins!" Nathan laughed.

"Ah, don't be silly. I don't have any siblings!"

"And I've already got Mattie!" Alfred tossed his arm across his twin's shoulders, laughing. "Besides, he's 19, and I'm, like…30." That ought to be close enough to look true. "I'm old enough to be his dad!" Arthur's heavy brows knitted together in a frown.

"Now there's a frightening thought."

"Anyways, I'm here now, aren't I?" Alfred grinned before turning to Nathan and waving. "Thanks for the ride, Nattie! I'll see you later, at the cafe, alright?"

"Anytime between Monday and Thursday, 8 to 6." He pulled his helmet back on, tightened the chin strap and lowered the visor. With one last wave over his shoulder, Nathan pulled away from the curb and took off down the street. Alfred continued to wave until the boy was out of sight. At that time, Arthur decided that it was high time the American got a reality check.

"You bloody twat!"

"OW!" Alfred yelped as Arthur smacked him over the head with a rolled up newspaper. "Iggy, what was that for?" The Englishman's face reddened with anger, and Francis and Matthew wisely took a few steps back.

* * *

Remember! If you know of any way I could improve the story, please let me know!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter three! And...a glimpse at what Nattie's been doing with himself since the 50's. XD

* * *

He never felt fear.

At least, that's what he always told himself before a show. Afterward, he'd lie in bed for an hour or two, repeatedly admitting how terrified he'd been of accidentally crossing that oh-so-fine line of Life or Death just a few hours prior. But he couldn't let that emotion get in the way of his performance, so he buried it until after his feet were safely back on the ground, and the arena was a good ten blocks behind him. So for now, as he sat behind the ominous black curtain, his bike rumbling almost anxiously beneath him, Nathan buried his fear.

"_Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the D.C. Stunt Show_!" The announcers voice sounded muffled and distant, despite the speakers just beyond the heavy curtain. "_Please, keep your arms and legs inside the railing at all times, for your own safety. These stunts are preformed by professionals_," Nathan rolled his eyes sarcastically. Professional? Him? That was new. "_So do NOT try this at home_!"

The music began to crescendo, and lights began to flash, skirting beneath the bottom of the curtain to cast an odd light show against the front tire and windshield of Nathan's bike. He raised the kickstand and revved the engine, rolling forward a few feet as an arena employe moved to unhook the curtain's edge and pulled it to one side. "_Please give a warm D.C. welcome to our first rider, Nathan Cameron!_" He let go of the brake and surged forward, barreling down the tunnel in the stands before bursting into the open dirt-floor arena.

All he could hear was the roar of the crowd, the snarl of his bike; Nathan took a slow, deep breath. This is why he spent ten hours, four days a week taking orders and hauling dishes - all for this. This was his was where he beloved.

In that moment, Nathan felt that nothing could go wrong.

He came back to consciousness about two hours later, under blinding lights, and with someone gently rapping on his skull. "…-tie…Nat-….-ie….." A concerned voice slowly phased back into place. "Nattie, can you hear me? Come on, kid - say something!"

"Don't tap the glass…." Nathan groaned. "It's making my head ring…." His manager stopped tapping his head and drew back with a frustrated sigh.

"Jesus Christ…"

"Owes me five bucks." Nathan giggled. His manager leaned back and shared a muted conversation with two more people - when had they gotten there? - crouched beside him. Nathan frowned. That wasn't nice - why couldn't they include him in their conversation? He was right there anyway…..oh my gosh, were they talking about him? How…preteen!

The two new people moved to either side of Nathan, and bent down to pick something up. A gurney? Nathan wondered when he was suddenly lifted up off the ground. Had he been lying on that the whole time? The two people - paramedics - began to roll the young man out of the arena, and a little of Nathan's clarity began to return.

His rear tire had lost traction near the end of his run. He'd been attempting his last trick - a bar trick called the 'cliff hanger', in which he hung from the handlebars by his feet, while riding the bike in a wheelie past the normal point of balance. As a direct result, the bike had toppled backwards. Right onto him. Admittedly, 50 mph was probably must too fast to safely attempt a 'cliff hanger'.

Nathan rolled his head back as the bright lights were cut off, noting with a sort of distant surprise that his helmet had been removed. Or smashed. Either was possible. "What'd I break this time…?" He mumbled, his tongue tripping over the words. "….did I wreck th' bike…?"

"Yes, yes you did." His manager frowned, following the paramedics through the covered entrance tunnel. "You'll be lucky if you won't have to rebuild it from scratch. As for what you broke….for sure? Your arm, your leg, foot, hand, several ribs, and possibly your spine."

"…..ow."

"Yes Nathan. Ow." The paramedics rolled Nathan out of the arena through a back door, and toward an ambulance waiting in the parking lot beyond. Already, a path had to be cleared by security guards, to keep rubbernecking show-goers at bay.

"Are we going to the hospital…?"

"Yes Nathan," His manager sighed as he climbed into the ambulance behind the injured rider and the paramedics. The boy had no other known family to notify, and needed someone with him at the hospital. "Bloody stunter…"

* * *

A day or so later, Alfred showed up at his twin's hotel room, clutching a surprise and armed with what he thought was an irrefutable offer for some brotherly bonding.

"No."

"But-"

"No."

"Mattie-"

"Alfred, no!" Matthew Williams stamped his foot resolutely, though the action had little impression on his twin. "I'm not going!"

"Aww, come on!" Alfred F. Jones whined. "I only get the discount on this thing if I have two people!" He waved the colorful coupon in his hand. "Besides, you'll love this place - Nattie works there!" Matthew made a face.

"Alfred, I have paperwork to finish for my boss. I can't put this off."

"You can do paperwork anytime!" Alfred whined. "How often do you get to bond with your favorite brother?"

"…you're my only brother."

"Exactly! So we're going!" Alfred grabbed Matthew's arm and dragged him out of the hotel room before he could protest. Matthew yelped.

"Bu-but Al! What about Kumaku-"

"Ah, he'll be fine!" Alfred smiled brightly. "We'll only be gone an hour or so, and he sleeps all day, anyway! Hurry up, or we'll get stuck in the lunch rush!" Matthew sighed inwardly as his twin dragged him to the elevators, and kicked the button with his foot.

"You couldn't just press the button?" Alfred turned to him with a wide grin.

"It makes me feel like a ninja." He rationalized. The elevator dinged as it arrived, and after a moment's pause, the doors slid open. Alfred pulled Matthew inside and hammered the lobby button. Then he draped an arm across his twin's shoulders as the doors closed. "Cheer up, Mattie! You'll love this place!" Matthew gave his twin a withering look, which was ignored.

"Let me guess...McDonald's?"

"...whoa, Mattie! Are you a mind reader?" Matthew sighed heavily. "Quick! What'm I thinking of right now?"

"Hamburgers..." Matthew growled quietly, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Oh my gosh, that's right!" Alfred gasped, eyes sparkling in awe. Matthew banged his head on the elevator wall in frustration. "You gotta teach me that trick!"

"Sure, Al..."

* * *

...well. XD Thanks to everyone for the positive reinforcement! Remember, if you have any suggestions, just let me know!


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter four! XD Thanks to everyone for the wonderful reviews!

* * *

"McDonald's? Again?" Matthew frowned as he spotted the golden arches Alfred was, no doubt, aiming for.

"Yeah, so?" His twin kept grinning. "It's a nice place! Well, nic_er_. You get comfy booths, the waiter comes to you - it's just like a Chili's! Except, you know…it's McDonald's!"

"Lovely, eh." Matthew sulked and leaned his cheek on his palm, slumping against the passenger side window. Only Alfred would compare one typical American restaurant to another. Alfred glanced at his twin, then smiled and reached over to playfully punch Matthew's arm.

"Aww, cheer up, Mattie. You get to meet Nathan again! He's a real cool kid! it's weird, though…I feel like I've met him before. I just can't remember where." Matthew thought for a moment.

"Hmm….well, you say you come here all the time?"

"When I'm in D.C., yeah." Alfred nodded. "But I've been real busy all month with stacks of paperwork. Yesterday was the first time my boss let me take a break!" He whined.

"Well, if you'd do your paperwork when you got it instead of putting it off, you wouldn't have that problem…" Matthew muttered. "Didn't you say Nathan only started working there this month?"

"Yep!" Alfred nodded.

"So how could you have met him if he just started, and you've been busy all that time, eh?" He asked. Alfred opened his mouth.

"…..I have no idea." Matthew facepalmed. "BUT I'll figure it out eventually!" Alfred spun the wheel abruptly, slamming Matthew against the window with the force. Then he slammed on the brakes, and the forward momentum was brought to a rough halt by Matthew' s seatbelt. The Canadian gasped.

"Maple, Alfred!" The American just grinned.

"We're here!"

* * *

Matthew had to admit that this wasn't so bad.

Contrasting to the usual places Alfred dragged him, where the mere thought of a health inspector would be cause for one's ejection, this McDonald's was clean, well-lit, and (surprisingly) didn't smell like french fries. Alfred ended up ordering for both of them when a young bottle-blonde waitress came to take their order. She kept a plastic smile plastered on as she struggle to keep up with the American, who was listing off item after item almost as fast as he could think of them. When he'd finished, Alfred paused a minute to let the waitress catch up before speaking again.

"Hey, do you know if Nathan Cameron is in today?"

"Oh, yes." The waitress nodded, quickly switching to a pitying look. "You must be friends of his! He's coming in late today - any minute now, actually. Poor kid…" She tsked, shaking her head as she closed her notepad. "Fell down six flights of stairs, don't'cha know." Matthew raised an eyebrow.

"Six flights of stairs?"

"Yeah…" The waitress sighed. "He was up on the roof of his apartment building, takin' a smoke. Slipped when he came back down."

"Geez….well, if you see him before we do, tell him we wish he gets well soon!" Alfred replied. The waitress nodded.

"Alrighty. I'll be right back with your drinks!" Alfred waited until the waitress had disappeared into the kitchen before dropping his smile.

"She's lying…." Matthew blinked.

"And how can you tell, eh."

"B'cause Nathan told me when we met that he doesn't smoke. Said the smell makes him sick." Alfred frowned. "So if she heard that story from Nathan, that means he got injured, and lied about it…"

"Why would he do that, eh?" Matthew asked. "He seemed like a good kid…and you liked him, and despite what Arthur believes, you're a pretty good judge of character. I can't see him doing something like that if you trusted him enough to tell him your real name, eh." Alfred leaned his chin on his hand and reached over to mess with the sugar packets stacked to one side of the table.

"I dunno, Mattie…." He sighed, excitement over the discounted lunch for two gone. "Maybe he broke his arm fixing his bike and didn't want to tell anyone the truth." Matthew raised an eyebrow again.

"Broke his arm fixing a bike, eh?" Alfred shifted.

"….yeah. Maybe it fell on him or something." Matthew sighed.

"We'll just keep an eye out for him and ask Nathan when he gets here." The Canadian decided quietly. "I'm sure he has a reasonable explanation."

* * *

By the time he arrived at work, Nathan had developed a burning hatred for stairs taller than four steps, innocently curious children, and nosy foreign cab drivers.

He limped around to the back of the building, a backpack slung over one shoulder, and banged on the door with his good arm. Thankfully, he hadn't broken his leg all that badly, and his somewhat superhuman healing ability (that still baffled doctors and himself) had kicked in overnight and fixed the damaged femur, along with the three ribs and the fracture in his spine.

Unfortunately, his smashed foot and hand were still mending, so he walked with a pronounced limp, and his right arm was encased in a bright green cast from the shoulder down. He really should've had the limb in a sling, but that would only get in the way of carrying dishes, and Nathan had already used up all his allotted sick days. He couldn't afford to lose this job.

The bottle-blonde waitress opened the door for him, with no trace of the pity she's displayed to Alfred and Matthew left for the actual injured. Nathan pushed past her before she could speak, in no mood to deal with her sharp tongue and opinion of his recklessness. Irritated that her rant had been cut off before it could begin, the waitress closed the door harder than necessary. "You're late."

"I noticed."

"What'd you do, walk all the way?" Nathan growled, really not in the mood to be interrogated by someone whose biggest life crisis was breaking a nail.

"What's it matter if I did?" Nathan tossed his backpack against the wall by the door and yanked his visor from a side pocket, jamming it on with his left hand. "Dolly, I'm really not in the mood-"

"Smoking, Nathan? Really, even you're not _that_ stupid." Nathan growled, but Dolly continued anyway. "What did you really do? Fall off the roof?"

"No."

"Crash that stupid bike of yours?"

"It's not stupid, it's a classic-"

"Or did you mess up with that sub-par group of stunt junkies you hang with?" Nathan clenched his good hand into a fist.

"You're not my mother! Geez! I'm here now, so either clock out and go home, or shut up and file your claws or something, she-demon!" He quickly fled the kitchen (well, as fast as he could flee while limping) before the waitress could respond and shouldered open the door to the seating area. Beyond the door, he picked up a waiting order slip sitting beside a pair of drinks on a tray, and checked the table number. Okay, this wasn't too bad of a way to start. Nathan sighed, smiling a little as he turned to pick out the correct table. At least, out here, people wouldn't spare him a second glance, neon cast or no, so he wouldn't have to answer any more stupid….nosy….questions….

Nathan's train of thought ground to a halt when he caught sight of two familiar faces seated in a booth near the windows. _[Oh no.]_ He cringed. _[Alfred and his twin…..what's his name….Matthew. I can't let them - no, wait….maybe they won't recognize me?]_ Nathan hesitated, weighing the pros and cons of this slim hope. Finally though, he came to the conclusion that avoiding them was inevitable - he'd get fired if he did, since he was already on thin ice after the 'flaming gauze' incident a few days earlier. Heaving a quiet sigh, Nathan picked up the waiting drinks from behind the counter, and, resigned to his fate, limped over to the twins at the table.

"Someone order a Coke and a Sprite...?"

* * *

Hmm...seems like Dolly just made a valid point about Nathan's side-job. XD

1) **FeatherLeaf** - True, but I've always pictured Alfred as looking older than he acts. XD

2) **Sile Authoress**- Funny it would be. XD Though Prussia shall have the opposite problem. Seems he's 'spread his awesomeness' a bit too far. XD

3)** Microraptor Glider**, **Triangular Prism** and **angel-feather-keeper**: Thanks so much! ^_^


	5. Chapter 5

Definately longer than the last three chapters. XD But now we're getting serious...

* * *

"Yeah! I had the C-…..Nathan!" Alfred cut himself off in surprise. The younger man cringed, shifting awkwardly to lower the tray to the table with one hand without spilling. "What happened?"

"Uh…..I….fell down stairs." Alfred frowned, his look of shock quickly dropping into one of flat accusation.

"After going to the roof for a smoke. Yeah, Dolly told us." Nathan cursed in his mind.

_[Freaking blabber-mouth of a waitress…] _"….you didn't believe her." He guessed.

"No. No I didn't." Alfred frowned. "You told me yourself you don't smoke. Why did you lie?" Matthew sat back in the booth, forgotten as usual. He pulled the paper tip off of his straw and took a sip of his drink as he watched his twin confront the younger man. He watched Nathan shift uncomfortably, and thought that, perhaps, Alfred had been right. Maybe Nathan had hurt himself fixing that bike of his, and was just too embarrassed to admit it? "Well…?" Alfred prompted. Nathan sighed.

"Alright, alright….truth is…." He paused. "….I crashed." _[True.]_ Alfred raised a suspicious eyebrow, and Nathan shifted beneath the scrutiny. "Driving home yesterday." He added quickly. "I lost traction around a corner and slid into a street light." _[Not so true.]_ "Broke my hand, foot and arm. Had to walk to work today." Nathan sighed, hoping neither twin would catch the lie. He missed the suspicious eyebrow Matthew raised.

"I lied to Dolly b'cause she's always preaching to me about motorcycle safety, not that she's ever even touched a bike…" He added under his breath. "…and I really wasn't in the mood to get another safety sermon, so I just told her I fell." Nathan sighed. "There, happy?"

"…..not really." Alfred leaned forward and took a sip of his Coke. "But at least your'e okay. So….." He fiddled with his straw. "Did the bike get wrecked?"

"Totaled." Nathan groaned, shoulders sagging. "It'll take me months to work up enough money for repairs. Not to mention how long it'll take to find the right parts…" Matthew traded a glance with his twin as the young waiter continued to go on about his ruined ride.

_[He lied.]_ Alfred raised an eyebrow.

_[How do you know?] _Matthew shifted in his seat and nodded his head toward Nathan, stirring the ice in his drink with his straw.

_[Body language. His says he lied.]_ Alfred frowned. He knew his twin was much more observant than he was, but he really wanted to trust Nathan.

"Uh…anyway, I'll be back to check on you later…" Nathan backed away from the booth, somewhat lopsidedly. "So…bye." He turned and limped away, carrying the tray under his good arm. Alfred looked at Matthew.

"You really think he lied again?" Matthew nodded.

"Notice he wasn't making eye contact?" Alfred nodded. "He wasn't doing much with his hands, either. When you introduced him a few days ago, he was as expressive as you." Matthew glanced up. "…Al, I know you don't want to hear this, but I think Nathan's hiding something from us, eh."

* * *

Only a few hours into his shift, Nathan's pain meds began to wear off. The burn on his hand had long been reduced to a mere pink blotch, and the gash it centered around was gone, but heavy lifting was never good for a broken arm - nor for the broken foot needed to support said heavy lifting. Nathan leaned his head against the cool material of the front counter. Not very sanitary, but it felt good - the smooth, cool surface fought back the pounding ache that was quickly beating down his focus.

"Cameron." Nathan lifted his head to glare at Dolly, who was standing at the entrance to the kitchen behind him, hands on her hips and wearing a frightening scowl.

"Whaat….." He groaned. Dolly's frown deepened and she reached behind the door, picking up a broom and tossing it at the tired employee. Nathan flinched as the wooden handle bounced off his head. "Ow…"

"If there's no one to take orders from, then get out on the floor and start sweeping." Dolly growled. "We've got a reputation to uphold." Nathan grudgingly picked up the broom and pushed off the counter, limping slowly through the door at the end of the line of registers.

"And you've got babies to eat-OW!" A dustpan bounced off his head and clattered to the floor, drawing the attention of a few customers, who quickly lost interest and turned away again.

"One more crack like that, and you're out of here, Cameron!" Nathan grumpily kicked the dustpan with his good foot, cringing at the pain that spiked when he had to take his weight off his broken foot. Muttering curses (most directed at Dolly) under his breath, he bent down to pick up the dust pan, then trudged to the back of the seating area to begin sweeping.

"Stupid, bottle-blonde she-demon…" Nathan growled as he swept out the back corner of the restaurant. "If I didn't need this job…" Across the restaurant, Alfred and Matthew watched through the leaves of a plastic fern.

"Well….." Matthew chewed on his straw. "Someone isn't happy with their job, eh."

"While I can't imagine how working at McDonald's could _ever_ be a bad thing," Alfred took a bite of his 6th hamburger. "I can relate to having a boss like that…..several, actually." Matthew sighed.

"Aren't you done yet? We've been here for two and a half hours…"

"Mattie, you can't rush perfection!" Alfred protested with his mouth full. Matthew flicked a tiny glop of chewed beef off his sweatshirt, then reached for a napkin.

"Swallow, Al. Then talk."

"Eheheh. That's what she said."

"…."

* * *

Nathan didn't leave until he was sure Alfred and Matthew were gone. Once he was sure they weren't hanging around, he clocked out (there's overtime he won't get paid for…) and packed up his bag, shouldering open the door to the alley behind the restaurant. He limped out onto the street, then turned towards home. That morning, he'd taken a cab halfway there, but the cabbie (only on his 3rd week in the city) had gotten lost, and Nathan still had to pay the tab. Now, he didn't have enough money for another cab home, and the bus system didn't pass his apartment complex. Heaving a sigh, Nathan started walking.

After about four blocks, he started to think someone was following him. He kept seeing flashes of a dark jacket from the corner of his eye, increasing in frequency the further he got from the restaurant. After six blocks, Nathan had to stop and lean against a street light, needing to take some weight off his broken foot. He heard footsteps on the concrete behind him, and slowly tensed. The footsteps stopped behind him, and a moment passed with nothing but silence.

"Nathan Cameron?" Nathan straightened up, but didn't turn around.

"Aye."

"Crash and signature?"

"42, the 'cliff hanger'." A black gloved hand pressed a piece of paper into his palm. Nathan pointedly refrained from looking.

"Heard about Monday. Lucky you heal fast." The footsteps turned, and slowly faded away beneath the sounds of traffic. Only when he could no longer hear their owner did Nathan look at the paper in his hand. He uncrumpled the small white strip and read the sloppy, slanted handwriting.

"_Beth's Pub, 12/14/10_." He read quietly. "Hmm…one week…" He groaned and stuffed he paper in his pocket. "I'll never have my bike ready in time…I'd have to borrow one from Svetlana….again…." Nathan felt his overall hope for the day sinking inch by inch. "I still haven't paid off the last one…man, this just isn't my week…" Hiking his backpack up higher on his good shoulder, Nathan trudged home, wondering how on earth he'd be ready by the 14th.

From a nearby rooftop, Alfred lowered his binoculars. He picked up the small radio lying beside him and clicked it on. "You were right, Mattie." He sighed. "There is something weird going on here."

"_Couldn't you have just sent one of your Secret Service guys to follow him?_" Matthew's voice crackled in response. "_Get down here before he sees you, eh_."

"He won't see me!" Alfred shot back. "He's walking the other way." He paused, watching Nathan limp down the sidewalk. It couldn't be healthy, walking that distance with a broken foot. Alfred's eyebrows knitted together in thought. He wanted to help, but what could he do….?

Suddenly, the proverbial lightbulb flared to life. Alfred sat bolt upright and snapped his fingers. "I've got it!"

"_Got what?_" Matthew questioned across he radio that had never been turned off. Alfred ignored the question.

"Mattie, start the car! I'm dropping you at home, and then I've got a plan to implement!"

* * *

Oh god...Alfred has an idea...XD and another Nationite has been mentioned! "42" and "the cliff hanger" are Nathan's total number of crashes (in recent years only, of course) and his signature trick. You'll see why that's important soon. ^_^ Thank you to all reviewers, for your wonderful comments and suggestions! Please, don't stop!


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter six! XD Not much going on here, but don't worry - all the action happens in the next installment!

* * *

Nathan was finally roused by the incessant ringing, and groped about for the source. The first object his hand came in contact with on the nightstand was his cell phone, which he flipped open and answered sleepily.

"J'ello…?"

"_Earl's Auto Garage, calling for Nathan Cameron_." Nathan propped himself up on one elbow and dragged his fingers through his hair.

"Eddie, I've been coming to you guys for the last decade. Do we really need to do this formal crap every time?"

"_When the boss is on site, yes_." Eddie replied. Nathan sighed.

"Fine, fine…." He flopped back on his pillows. "What's wrong with my bike…?"

"_Nothing_." Nathan sat up quickly.

"What?"

"_Nothing's wrong with you're bike - I'm just calling to say it'll be ready in three days_." Nathan's eyes widened.

"Bu-but I don't-"

"_Relax_." Eddie cut in. "_A friend of yours stopped by last night and paid for everything - even put a rush on the parts_." Nathan paused suspiciously. He didn't have many friends without shady backgrounds, and the few who didn't he either hadn't known that long, or didn't have the finances for such a thing.

"…did they leave a name?"

"_A last one. Jones. That's all_."

_[Jones….as in Alfred F. Jones?] _Nathan wondered. _[But why would he pay my repair bill? We've only known each other a few days…]_

"…-than…..Nathan…? NATE!" The young man yelped and yanked the phone away from his ear, switching to the opposite side.

"_Geez, Eddie! What?_"

_"You spaced out on me again. Thought you hung up….You do know this Jones guy, right_?" In that second, Nathan could have lied. He could've claimed a case of mistaken identity. He could've said any number of things, and Eddie would've believed him. That second passed quickly.

"Yeah." Nathan nodded, even though he knew Eddie couldn't see him. "We're…work buddies."

"_Ah, okay_." Eddie took the bait. "_Well, it's all done an' paid for. Come by and pick 'er up on Monday._"

"Will do." Nathan hung up the phone and tossed the device back onto the bedside table. He sighed heavily, then slowly fell back onto the pillows. Why. Why, why, why, why, why? He couldn't see any motivation for Alfred to pay his repair tab...especially considering why he really needed the bike fixed and road-ready by the 14th. "Agh..." Nathan groaned and rolled over. "Fridays aren't supposed to be this mentally taxing..."

* * *

When the phone rang again, Nathan was still in no mood to answer.

He hadn't moved from bed that Friday but to use the bathroom or take his pain medication. Though he was healing much faster than your average person, the injuries still hurt like _hell_. He was on oxycodone - the only side effect that actually showed in him was fatigue, so he figured that staying in bed while medicated was the best way to spend his day off. He tried to pass off the ringing, but by the third ring, his head was beginning to pound, so Nathan pulled himself from the covers and grabbed his cell phone.

"_Hii_…?"

"_Nathan_?"

"…..Svetlana?" Nathan blinked. "Wow, you never call me….how much trouble am I in now?"

"_Relax_. _Alex does not know I am calling_." Svetlana replied. Nathan yawned and curled up under the covers again, putting the phone on speaker and dropping it beside him. "_You have gotten location, da_?"

"Da.." Nathan replied sleepily. "Trenchcoat man slipped it to me yesterday. What is that guy's name, anyway? I can't keep calling him a supervillain name."

"_You know I cannot tell you_." Svetlana sighed. "_Listen, Nathan….we need to talk_." After a moment of silence, Nathan shrugged.

"So…let's talk."

"_Not here. Phones can be tapped._" That made Nathan wake up. If Svetlana was worried about their conversation being eavesdropped on, then whatever she had to say was important. "_Get to meeting site early_." Svetlana ordered. "_We will talk there, da_?"

"Da…."

"_Da sveedaneeya, Nathan_."

"Bye, 'Vet." The woman on the other end of the line chuckled a little at the old nickname before hanging up. Nathan flipped his phone closed, and snaked his hand out from beneath the covers to drop it on the bedside table. Then he pulled his arm back into the warmth and curled up with a sigh. His thoughts drifted back over the years, tracking his memories as far back as he dared go. Past crashes, debts, unfortunate encounters with angry, deceitful Russians….Nathan broke off these thoughts and sighed.

What had he gotten himself into?

* * *

"Alexi Iconovitch." The heavy file thudded to the metal table of the cold room. "Two counts of assault and battery, three counts of petty theft, and under investigation of tax evasion." A gloved hand picked up the file, then began to rifle through it. A man on the other side of the table, cast in shadow, leaned back in his chair, balancing easily on the two back legs.

"Definate connections to branch of _Bratva_ in America's capitol. Normally, their actions do not concern us. But lately, they have gotten bolder - sliding into organized crime and larger-scale thefts. We cannot risk international incident at this time. We need you to find Alexi, and if possible, gather evidence against him." A childish smile appeared as the gloved hands picked up the file. "Can you do this?"

"Da." A few papers were flipped. "Alexi has daughter, correct?" The shadowed man nodded.

"One. Adopted. Svetlana Iconovitch. Born in Moscow to single mother, raised until her mother's death. Adopted by her third cousin Alexi Iconovitch in 2000." The man laced his fingers together. "She moved to America in…1959." Purple eyes glanced up.

"That would be over fifty years ago." The shadowed man nodded.

"I know. That is why we are asking you to investigate this matter."

"You think Miss Iconovitch is like me?"

"It….is improbable….but evidence does support such an idea." The shadowed man smirked beneath the brim of his hat. "Unless Alexi has found Fountain of Youth."

"Doubtful."

"I agree." The file was flipped shut.

"Okay. I will go."

"Замечательный," The shadowed man smiled. "Your flight leaves tonight, from Moscow International. Ruslan shall give you your boarding pass as you leave. First class, as always." The towering man tucked the file into his long tan coat, and turned around to leave.

"Всего наилучшего, friend. Счастливого пути."

* * *

Because I fail and don't speak Russian, I used Google translator. The translations are, roughly, "goodbye", "wonderful", "all the best" and "have a safe trip". I trust our purple-eyed spy's identity is obvious. ^_^


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7!...I think I can safely say that this is the longest chapter. XD Sorry about that - the idea just kept coming, and I didn't think breaking it up would be good for the flow.

* * *

Five days passed far too quickly.

In what seemed like a few mere days, but was in fact a week, Nathan woke up at 6am on the morning of December 14th, 2010. He lay in bed for another half hour, just staring up at his blank, empty ceiling. Last-minute second thoughts raced through his mind; mostly of how much failure would hurt…Eventually, though, he had to get out of bed and get dressed. There was a lot he had to do before he headed down to Beth's Pub.

Nathan lived paycheck to paycheck, and the vast majority of anything he managed to save went straight into repairs for his bike, or his hospital bills (which were, after 50 years, quite alarming). He couldn't afford the padded jackets, pants or jumpsuits of professional (legit) trick riders; he only had the helmet, steel toed boots and a pair of thick leather gloves. Hardly enough to save his life in a serious crash…..but then, he hadn't died before, so why should things change now?

As an added precaution, however, Nathan spent an hour carefully wrapping ACE bandages (which he'd finally bought after days of procrastinating) around his arms, legs, hands and feet. It didn't add much protection at all - it was more for keeping his right hand and foot firmly in place. Judging by his healing ability, the bones should have healed the day before. It paid to be safe, though. Next, Nathan dug out something he hadn't used in years - a kevlar vest.

There was nothing safe about these meetings - death wasn't such a rarity, and some of the rougher members often came armed. Confrontations escalated quickly, and if you weren't armed, you were fast, and if you weren't fast, you were dead. Nathan was plenty fast, but he didn't own (nor know how to shoot) a gun, and he doubted he could dodge a speeding bullet. He was unusual, but he wasn't Superman. The vest had cost him ten months' salary - to save up for it, he'd stopped taking all the risks that pleased the bloodthirsty crowds, so he wouldn't wreck and need to spend his savings on repairs. As soon as he had the vest, though, Nathan went right back to cheating death.

Nathan stripped off his sleep shirt and pulled on a tighter, more form-fitting sport shirt. Then, he pulled the kevlar vest over his head and clipped it into place. Once he was sure the vest wouldn't slip and slide all over, he pulled on a normal red sleeveless over the vest, making sure the fabric hung loose enough to hide it. Then, he pulled on his army jacket over this. His hand brushed across the faded name patch on the left breast, and Nathan paused. He glanced down, then reached up and rubbed his thumb along the frayed black threading that spelled "A. Jones". His mind suddenly strayed to a certain blonde he'd only known for a week or two. The thought of Alfred's reaction to his plans for the night caused him to stop, one hand hovering over his backpack, which he'd packed for the event the night before.

A needle of guilt spiked through Nathan's heart. _[How would Alfred react if he knew why I really needed my bike fixed?]_ He wondered. _[If he knew what I'm about to do to his generosity?]_ The young man shook his head to dislodge the sobering thought. "Can't think like that." He scolded himself as he snatched up his backpack from the floor. "I needed to focus tonight…" Nathan left the apartment and pulled on his backpack, clipping it on with the extra straps before he pulled on his helmet and climbed on his bike. Moments later, he was roaring down the street, heading for Beth's Pub. He missed the black Sedan that followed him, turning with just a few second's delay.

* * *

Contrary to popular belief (and experience), Alfred could be a very skilled driver….when he put his mind to it.

Following Nathan through the streets of D.C. while trying to remain inconspicuous in the only car the Secret Service would lend him (which just happened to be the least inconspicuous vehicle in D.C. - with tinted freaking' windows) certainly called for such skills.

Eventually, Alfred followed the young man to a side-walk bar in need of some serious renovations. Alfred parked across the street, in the bar's extra parking, and shut off the Sedan. He sat quietly and watched through the tinted windows as Nathan came out from the alley he'd parked in and hurried into the bar. Alfred quickly hopped out and followed him in, locking the Sedan with the remote on his way. He paused outside the door and glanced up at the sign._ [Beth's Pub. Maybe England knows this place?] _He thought before he pushed open the heavy door and walked inside.

There wasn't anything outwardly suspicious about the room inside. At least, no more suspicious than any other bar in America. There were plenty of men and women sitting around, eating, flirting, or getting drunk. Every third person, though, Alfred would see someone dressed in a padded outfit - usually black, red, or a dark blue. Some of them still carried helmets, and all of them wore gloves. _[A lot of serious riders here tonight…]_ Alfred slipped toward the back of the room, and slid into a booth nestled in the far corner. From here, he could watch all the other patrons, without attracting too much attention.

He found Nathan by his red shirt, and picked him out from a small group of the red, blue and white suites, looking rather out of place. They were talking amongst themselves, somewhat teasingly, proven when one comment caused the group to erupt in laughter that, for a few moments, rose above the roar of the bar. Alfred watched as a tall, stocky brunette (he'd steak a cheeseburger on her being Russian) walked up to the group and tapped Nathan on the shoulder.

_[He seems happy to see her.] _Alfred thought upon Nathan's reaction. He narrowed his eyes as he watched them embrace, like long-lost friends, and then the woman joined the group in conversation. Alfred frowned. Despite Nathan's odd behavior over the last week (and that suspicious note passing he'd witnessed), nothing seemed to be wrong. He sat back against the wall with a sigh. Maybe this had been a waist of time.

"Jones!" The familiarly childish voice caused a chill to run up Alfred's spine. "What surprise to see you here." Alfred growled.

"Braginski." The tall Russian sat down on the other side of the table, oblivious to Alfred's protests.

"This not place for good food." Ivan smiled, despite Alfred's glare. "What are you doing here?"

"…..I'm….helping someone." Alfred replied at length.

"By spying on the boy in the red shirt, da?" Ivan grinned. Alfred sputtered.

"Y-you-you were watching me? You creepy commie-"

"Nyet. I just happened to see you." Ivan interrupted. "I am here on my own business." Alfred huffed and propped his chin on his hand.

"What, spying on me? Isn't that a Cold War thing? Newsflash: it's over."

"Not you. Her." Alfred blinked and followed Ivan's gaze.

"…that brunette with Nathan?"

"Ah, so his name is Nathan." Alfred cursed quietly. Ivan chuckled. "Her name is Svetlana Iconovitch. She is the daughter of a person of interest to the Russian government." Alfred narrowed his eyes, tapping his fingers against the table.

"Has your government informed mine?"

"Nyet."

"Why not?"

"We have yet to obtain proof that he is a member of the _Bratva_." Ivan replied. Upon Alfred's blank look, he clarified. "Russian Mafia."

"Ah."

"As of now, we only have his criminal record - all non-federal offenses that he has served time for."

"O….kay…" Alfred frowned. "So why are you watching this guy's daughter instead of him? Won't he get suspicious of somebody tailing his kid?" Ivan's responding smile was far too reminiscent of past encounters for Alfred's taste. The Russian leaned forward across the table, leaning on his elbows as Alfred automatically leaned as far back as he could in his seat.

"You really have no idea what is going on tonight…do you Jones?"

* * *

"Are they still watching?" Svetlana glanced quietly over her shoulder toward the back of the bar."

"No. They're arguing, now." Nathan glanced from the table, stealing a look at Alfred and Ivan in the booth.

"Ooh, they look busy." He snorted and slid out of his seat. "Come on," He grabbed Svetlana's hand. "The back alley should be empty for a few more minutes." The two slipped away from the group of riders, making their way through the crowds to a door partially hidden behind one of the taxidermy deer heads hung from the rafters. Nathan pushed the door open and held it for Svetlana, letting it fall shut behind him with a heavy slam. There was too much noise inside for anyone to hear it, anyway.

It was already dark outside - the alley was dim, but for a lantern hung above the back door, and the dull glow of a streetlight out on the sidewalk. The two youngsters were all alone in the alley, but for a dumpster, a stray cat, and a few motorcycles parked for use later that night. Nathan shivered a little as a chilly December wind invaded the alley. Svetlana merely tugged her fur coat closer around her throat.

"So….." Nathan walked up to Svetlana's side, hands jammed in his pockets and knees locked, so his legs swung comically with each step. "What'd you want to talk about that couldn't be said on the phone?" He asked. "Do you think someone was trying to tap the line?" Svetlana shook her head.

"Nyet….I just wanted to talk to you in private." She smiled slightly. "I've been your manager now for how long?" She asked.

"23 years." Nathan recalled with a smile. "The last seven better than the first sixteen." He laughed. Svetlana giggled a little.

"And we've been together how long?"

"Seven years. Eight, if you count March 23rd." Nathan cackled. He leaned against Svetlana's shoulder lightly, even though the woman was a good three inches taller than himself. "Why d'you ask? I know you know…" Svetlana shifted her grip on her collar anxiously.

"….Alexi is getting impatient, Nathan…" The young man sighed, good mood gone.

"I know, I know…I'm trying to get the money up - I really am."

"I know you are…"

"But I don't get paid for overtime, and it's…..it's just so much….agh…" Nathan groaned. "I should've gotten out of this years ago…"

"Yes." Svetlana agreed quietly. "Yes, you should have."

"…I'm almost there, though." Nathan added quickly. "That guy who followed me - Jones - he paid my repair bill. Now I can turn that money over to Alexi. That's $3,000."

"….you would still be $500 short." Nathan shrugged.

"I'll sell my helmet. Live on instant ramen for a year or two. No big deal." Svetlana growled.

"Do not take this so lightly, Cameron." Nathan jerked. Svetlana hardly ever called him by his last name alone, unless she were truly angry. "You have heard what Alexi can do if you do not pay." Her angry glare softened. "I do not want to see you hurt." Nathan smiled softly.

"Come on, 'Vet, you know me." He reached up and wrapped his hand around hers, pulling it away from the furry coat collar. "You know that we're different, us two…" His smile became a little sad. "There's nothing Alexi can do that would kill me….permanently. Remember Labor Day, 1970?" Svetlana cringed.

"Must I? No one should be able to survive a hit from a freight train."

"I did." Nathan pointed out. "You probably would have, too. On a side note, though, I've been avoiding trains and their tracks ever since." He pulled the other closer and gave her a quick, meaningful hug. "Don't worry, 'Vet. I'll be okay. I'll pay Alexi tonight after my run, and things will be fine." After a moment's trepidation, Svetlana returned the hug.

"Fine…I will take you on your word." She pulled back. "But please promise that you will come back safely. No stupid stunts this time. Just follow the assignment and don not crash." Nathan laughed.

"Don't worry, 'Vet!" He assured the young woman. "I've had enough crashes to last me the year. I promise, I'll come back in one piece this time. I can't afford to pay Alexi for another bike, anyway." He leaned up and kissed the taller woman her cheek. "You go back inside…I'll drive out to the 'station' and meet the guide. I'll pay, ride, and come right back here." Svetlana nodded, but hesitated a moment more. She patted Nathan on the shoulder.

"I will be waiting." Then she turned and walked back to the rear door. The level of noise escalated significantly as the young woman opened the door, and was immediately cut off as the door shut again, with another heavy ring. Nathan stood in the alley for several more minutes, shivering in the cold wind, and with no trace of the confidence he'd shown to Svetlana.

He had no idea how he'd come up with the last $500 he needed. He was already living on two meals of instant ramen a day, and doubted that he could keep going on just one. He would have to sell almost all of his worldly possessions to make up even half of the gap, and that would still leave him hanging. Nathan finally dragged his hands from his pockets and pulled the old jacket tighter around his shoulders. He rubbed his fingers across the fabric of the worn, decades old collar.

"….Dad," Nathan glanced up at the December sky, only visible as a black strip over the top of the roof of the bar and the neighboring warehouse. "Wherever you are…." He sighed. "I could use some serious help right about now…" No answer was forthcoming, and the December sky remained black. Nathan slowly turned around, shoulders sagging as he made his way back toward his bike, parked at the very end of the alley. It was a long ride to the 'station'…he'd better get going.

* * *

And the plot thickens! Again! XD

1) **Sile Authoress** - Thanks for the tip! I completely missed that. Thanks for leaving a critique!

2) **Triangular Prism** - Well...I won't name any names...but there will be a total of eleven children...not necessarily by eleven nations. XD

3) **Lucky Numbers** - This is probably something I should mention. XD Nathan may or may not represent a US protectorate/territory...


	8. Chapter 8

What d'ya know? **Triangular Prism**, you get your wish! XD Two chapters in one day! Though gimme at least 24 hours for the next one!

* * *

"What's going on here?" Alfred narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Ivan. "And don't lie! 'Cause I'll know…" The Russian just smiled.

"Keep your mouth shut and watch." He ordered. "This is not place for us to be standing out." Alfred paused and took in the other's outfit. Ivan was wearing jeans and (of all things!) a Metallica T-shirt. He looked…downright terrifying.

"Oh, yeah…you blend right in…."

"You are one to talk, 'Captain America'…" Ivan taunted. Alfred growled.

"Shut it! He's a national hero!" He snarled in defense of the iconic shield printed on his white shirt.

"He is fictional."

"So?

Across the bar, Nathan ducked back in to retrieve his keys from the bartender, and find out the location of the 'station'. It changed every time, and never seemed to be in the same place twice. The bartender, an older, heavyset woman, gestured for him to sit down and wait a moment, then disappeared into a back room. Nathan slid onto an empty bar stool - most spectators on these nights seemed to prefer the tables, right up until the broadcasts began. The young man leaned against the counter, trying to get his nerves under control.

As he tried to regain his composure, a short redhead stumbled up to him, sloshing a half-empty cup of some alcoholic liquid and swaying alarmingly. She leaned heavily against Nathan's back, and the young man yelped, spinning around in his seat. "Ya know…you're reaaaally cute. Reeeaaaaaally." She giggled, reaching out with her free hand to pluck the male's glasses from his face.

"Hey!" Nathan protested, now having to squint. "I need those to see!"

"How do you see out of these things silly? It's all blurry!" The woman turned in a sloppy circle, giggling and peering up at the ceiling through Nathan's glasses. The young man quickly snatched them back with a childish "gimmie!" and placed them back on his face. "D'aaaaaaawwww, you're no fuuuuuun." The woman decided. "You need to drink more." She thrust her glass in his face, very nearly sloshing the liquid over the rim and into Nathan's lap. "Come oooooon! This is a fuuuuun place! Don't you want to have fuuuuuun?" Nathan leaned back as far as he could and pushed the glass away with one finger.

"Um…no, thanks….I'm…uh….allergic! I'm allergic! Yeah…" The drunken woman laughed and smacked Nathan on the shoulder, very nearly overbalancing herself.

"You're soooooo silly! Why are you at a bar if you're not going to drink? Siiiiiiiily!"

"…..okay, miss-"

"Call me Kayci, sweetie!"

"…..okay, Kayci," Nathan repeated. "I think you've had enough."

"Nooooooooo, I think YOU'VE had enough!" Kayci shot back. Nathan blinked in confusion, mulling over this statement before responding.

"….but I didn't have any to begin with…"

"Then why are you at a bar siiiilly?" Kayci giggled, leaning a little too close. Nathan pushed her back by her shoulders.

"I don't have to answer that." Kayci stared at him blankly for a minute before giggling again.

"You're weeeeeeeeiired." She laughed. "You're lucky you're cute, weirdo!" Unable to think up a response fast enough, Nathan's body betrayed him and he blushed. Not even Svetlana called him cute. A few words in Russian that he couldn't understand, sure. But never cute. Kayci laughed, rolling on her heels and spilling a good portion of her drink. "Heeeeheheeeeee! You're bluuuuuuushiiiiiiing! …awww…." She suddenly saddened when she went to take another gulp. "My drink is gone….I need a new one…..I'll be baaaaack!" She turned to skip away, and tripped over her own feet, landing flat on the ground. Nathan stared at her, but she just giggled again, signifying that she was alright. The bartender returned and slipped Nathan a scrap of paper, nodding him toward the back door.

"Thanks…" Nathan slid to the floor and sideswiped the fallen drunk. "Ah…" He pointed down at he rand turned to the bartender. "Can you make sure she gets home okay?" The woman giggled.

"Hey! There are peanuts down here!"

"….or at least make sure she finds a seat."

"There's gum down here too!"

"….I'm gonna go now…" Nathan backed away and slipped out the rear door again. He shivered when he came in contact with the cool December air, and this time, zipped up his jacket to his throat. He couldn't procrastinate any longer, now that he had the 'station's' location. Nathan unclenched his hand and looked at the small scrap of dirty paper, and the destination scrawled upon it. He thought for a moment, tracing the route with his mind. It was about a fifteen minute drive from Beth's Pub to the 'station', and it was always more than fifteen from the 'station to the site.

Nathan walked slowly down the alley, taking his sweet time and kicking at the light dusting of snow that had fallen sporadically all day. It would make the roads icy and extra dangerous - hopefully, tonight's event would be held somewhere indoors. When he reached his motorcycle, the young man hesitated, slowly picking up his helmet from where he'd tied it to the slider bar. He slowly pulled it in, and slowly climbed on the bike. The roar of the engine shattered the silence of the snowy alley, and with no further reason to stay, Nathan pulled out of the parking space, and drove off down the road.

* * *

Alfred sat back in a sulky mood, sinking into the cushions of the booth as he nursed the black eye Ivan had given him with an ice pack from the bar. The Russian was grinning on the other side of the table, despite the purpling spot on the underside of his chin. "That was fun, da?"

"Shut up. You got a lucky shot." Ivan just laughed, which only caused Alfred to sulk more.

"….are you ready to listen, now?" Ivan asked after a minute of silence. "You have no idea what you have stumbled into, Jones. This is called "Trick Club". It is illegal setup of stunt riding, run by _Bratva_." Alfred slowly turned to look at the other. "They sponsor young riders, then wrack them up in debt. They start riding for fun, then they have to ride for their freedom." Ivan sat back. "_Bratva_ is very dangerous group. You would do well to leave now while you can."

"….no." Alfred shook his head, lowering the ice pack and cautiously poking at his purpling eye. "I need to find out what Nathan is doing here-"

"If he is here to ride, then he is most likely working for _Bratva_."

"I'm not sure I believe that."

"It doesn't matter if you believe it or not, Jones." Ivan fixed the shorter man with a pointed, amethyst stare. "It only matters if it is true." Alfred didn't answer, and another silence lapsed between them. As Alfred sulked over this new information, Ivan watched as several people dressed in black appeared from behind the bar and moved toward the doors and windows. He narrowed his eyes as the people began to lock the exits, dropping black cloths over glass and tying it down. "It is beginning." Alfred looked up.

"What?" The lights suddenly dropped out, remaining on, but too dim to really see any details on the faces of anyone but the person directly beside you. The massive TV screens suspended from the ceiling above the bar flickered back on, broadcasting a shaky, handheld image of what appeared to be an empty stretch of snow-dusted highway. The camera panned in a circle, showing the now-cheering audience a 360 degree view of the makeshift track and the riders.

Alfred felt his heart sink as he recognized Nathan waiting amongst the other riders.

* * *

The wind got colder the further you got from the city.

Nathan shivered quietly in his jacket, despite four total layers and gloves. The wind wasn't strong enough to blow a rider over, yet…but it was whipping up a foreboding blizzard-like effect of powdery snow and ice crystals. He really didn't want to ride tonight. With the added danger of black ice and snow blinding, a crash was guaranteed for all but the luckiest of trick riders.

And luck had never favored him well.

He watched the camera pan around the circle, and reached up to lower his pace shield as the camera passed him. This way, he wouldn't have to face the fact that failure now would be broadcast right to the people to whom failure was no option. Nathan dropped his hands to the seat in front of him, drawing what little heat he could from the bike. The cold had already penetrated his gloves, and his fingers were slowly loosing feeling. That was a sense he needed for his run, if he wanted to keep his promise to Svetlana.

The scrawny punk carrying the camera moved off the road, and the name of the first rider was called. A man in a black riding suit pulled forward on a grey Harley and took his place at the starting line. A countdown was initiated, and the first run of the night was started, with another cameraman following close behind in a black pick-up truck.. Within minutes, the rider was out of sight of the others. There was no way for the competition to watch each other, and therefore, they never knew if there were potholes, cracks, or black ice patches until they found them the hard way. Nathan shivered again and tucked his hands beneath his arms.

This was going to be a long night.

* * *

All too soon, it was his turn.

Nathan pulled up to the starting line, gripping the steering column tightly to keep his hands from shaking. He'd only seen four of seven prior riders returning, which meant the others had either crashed and come back in the back of the pick-up….or weren't coming back at all.

The fact that this last option wasn't a rare occurrence didn't help his nerves. Nathan took a shaky breath and tried to focus as his countdown began. When the announcer reached "1", he revved his engine and raced forward, dimly registering the chug of the pick-up's engine as it followed him with the cameraman.

Almost instantly, Nathan's field of view was reduced to a few mere feet - beyond that was simply a blinding sheet of black and white. He tightened his grip on his bike and shifted, preparing for his first trick - a 'heel clicker'. Easy enough, as he didn't need to change his center of gravity. Next, a 'Cross Over'…then a 'Recliner'….the bike began to wobble alarmingly and Nathan jerked up, grabbing for the handlebars to steady himself. Once he had the bike under control, he moved on to the harder tricks - the ones he'd been dreading all day.

First came the 'elevator'. Nathan raised himself up until he was balancing on the footpads, then leaping up and planting both feet on the seat. He crouched there for a minute, making sure the bike was traveling at a steady pace and in a straight line, before letting go of the handlebars and slowly standing up into a move known as the 'Christ Air'.

Nathan was only one trick shy of his quota - once he hit that number, he could stop and pull off the run. There was only one that could impress the event's sponsors (who were, no doubt watching) enough to give him the brownie points he'd need to negotiate his debt. Ignoring the fluttery feeling of anxiety building up in his stomach, Nathan slowly began to turn to face the rear of his bike.

He shuffled back a step, then leaned forward and threw his legs upward; he was now precariously balanced on his hands on the rear of the bike, in a trick known as 'Switch Back Insane'. Nathan held this pose for a few seconds before dropping back down to the seat. He started to spin around, to sit correctly on the bike and safely end his run. At that point in time, he encountered the black ice.

* * *

Four segments, random Ivan/Alfred barfight, and an explanation of "Trick Club"! XD

1) **Sile Authoress** - Yeah. XD I've always liked the idea of Soldier!America

2) **PokkiChoco** - There's a total of eleven, including Nathan and Svetlana...and it could be good or bad. XD Depends on the reaction of the nation who finds out they have three kids. XD Can you guess who? And no - Alfred didn't know Nathan existed...he will soon, though. 8D

3) **Triangular Prism** - I may have fried my brain, but when you have a cold and no college class to suffer through, you have to focus your energy somewhere. XD Your wish is my command!

4) **kagamehitori** - Enjoy your cameo! XD


	9. Chapter 9

Oh, the things you write when you're sick...XD Chapter Nine, up and running!

* * *

It seemed like one moment he was riding, and one moment, he was flying.

His front wheel suddenly went sideways on the ice, but the back wheel kept traction or a few seconds more, which pitched Nathan up over the front wheel and face first into the pavement. All he could do was tuck, roll, and hope to god that his bike didn't hit him.

That, at least, luck seemed to grant him. Nathan rag-dolled several meters before sliding to a stop on the edge of the road. He was dimly aware of his bike screeching to a halt just feet away, followed quickly by the squeal of the pick-up's brakes. Doors were opened and slammed shut, and as footsteps raced toward him, Nathan started testing his limbs.

Left arm…ow. Broken, for sure. Right arm…he wished he couldn't feel it. Neck…well, he wasn't dead and could still feel his arms (unfortunately), so that seemed fine. Left leg….double ow. Definitely shattered; broken twice, at the least. Right leg…seemed fine. That was lucky. Spine….another stroke of luck. No direct pain there, so no break, right? Someone rolled him over, and Nathan cried out. "OW! Okay, ow, ow…" Someone else pulled off his helmet, and Nathan shivered, unprepared for the sudden exposure to the windblown snow.

"Hey, Cameron, you alive?" The cameraman moved around the person kneeling beside the fallen rider, blocking the wind and snow.

"Define: 'alive'…" Nathan narrowed his eyes. "And gimme back my helmet, it's freaking cold out here."

"He's fine." Someone sighed from where they stood hidden behind the snow. "Get him in the truck and take him back. We'll call for an ambulance when everyone's had their run."

_[Right….]_ Nathan thought with a heavy mental sigh. [They can't risk the cops showing up…I'm gonna have to wait.]

"Jimmy," The cameraman spoke up. "Um…ho-how many other rides were after this guy?"

"Only two," Jimmy replied. "Just call when the last rider starts, Red. It'll take the system twenty minutes to send out a van, and another thirty for the drive from the closest hospital." Jimmy shrugged nonchalantly as two more people pulled Nathan upright and started carrying (or dragging) him to the pick-up. "Don't sweat this. We'll all be long gone by the time they show up."

"Um, r-right…" Red nodded, following at the back of the group. He'd taken this job to pick up a few extra hundred bucks every night, but there was a lot that didn't sit well with him - particularly the safety standards. Anxiously, he looked down at his camera and fiddled with the shutter - open, close, open close. Then he realized he hadn't stopped recording.

Red cringed. Well….hopefully the guy running the broadcast had cut the connection after the crash. Their sponsors certainly wouldn't keep funding them if their employees made stupid mistakes like this…and Jimmy's casual statement would almost certainly cost them a fortune. Despite the illegality of the entire setup, most of their cliental still had their moral codes. Abandoning an injured rider on the side of a desolate highway almost certainly went against that. They came for the thrill - of trick riding and of breaking the law.

The little the audience knew, the better.

* * *

Nathan sulked the entire drive back to the starting line. Not so much for the fact that he'd crashed, but for the repairs his bike would now need…and his own hospital bills. He'd struck his trick quota before the crash, which meant a technically successful run. That would win anyone who'd bet on him a fair amount - Nathan never wore the same safety gear as the other riders (since he couldn't afford them), so the odds were always skewed against him - and a fair percentage of those who'd bet against him would go right to his superiors.

Those who bet against him always outweighed those who bet on him - a vote of lack of confidence that Nathan honestly didn't appreciate, but tonight, it could work in his favor. Hopefully, tonight's round of big losses would sway Alexi's confidence in his favor….or, at least, give him enough brownie points to negotiate an extra day or two.

The pick-up returned to the starting line, and Nathan's bike - scratched, broken, and cracked, but still in one piece - was unloaded first. Then, Nathan was pulled out of the truck. Barely able to stand on his own, he was led over to the table set up for the broadcaster and placed (dumped) in an extra chair. His bike, still drivable, but not safely, was parked behind the table. The cameraman set up shop back in the truck, and the next rider took their place at the starting line. Nathan glanced at the last rider - an older woman, wearing a red suit.

Her pace shield was up, and she glanced over in time to meet the younger boy's eyes. They shared a look, and the woman dismounted her Harley, walking over to the table as the rider tore out of the starting gate. She moved over to a water cooler set up on the end of the table, and grabbed one of the provided paper cups. Though it was much too cold to be drinking water, the woman filled up the cup and raised it to her lips.

"Black ice or pothole?" She asked quietly.

"Black ice." Nathan replied quietly, neither meeting her eyes nor moving his lips much. "Left side. Stay right." The woman nodded, finished the water, and tossed the cup back on the table.

"Thanks." She walked back to her bike and climbed on, pulling on her helmet as she prepared for her run. Nathan looked around, but could see no-one watching. This was good news. Sharing information like he'd just done wasn't technically against the rules….but it sure didn't win you points with the sponsors. But at least no-on had seen him, right?

Nathan failed to notice a tall, broad-shouldered man, dressed in black clothes and sunglasses, moving toward him from behind. That is, he failed to notice until a heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder. Ignoring Nathan's yelp of pain, the man leaned down and whispered in a heavy Russian accent, "Mr. Iconovitch vud like to see you after race. Ve vill provide transportation for you and your motorcycle." Nathan tried to squirm out of the man's iron grip.

"How…" He cringed. "…generous of him….c-could you let go-OW!" The man only tightened his grip.

"I trust you have Mr. Iconovitch's money?" He growled softly in Nathan's ear. "If not, there is not good outlook for you. Are ve clear?" Nathan winced and bit his lip.

"C-crystal…" The man finally let go, but patted Nathan roughly on the shoulder before he could feel any relief.

"Good boy." The man straightened up. "Your escort vill arrive in ten minutes. Be ready." He turned and walked away. Nathan eased his right arm up to rub at his left shoulder, biting his lip in pain. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he mulled this over.

Ten minutes. He had ten minutes to work up a good, convincing argument as to why he should be given another day or two to work up the last $500. Alexi Iconovitch, he knew from past encounters, did not like waiting. Convincing him to extend the deadline on anything was a long shot in the dark. Impatient, deceitful, and with a silver tongue, it was more likely that he'd talk you deeper into debt than extend your deadline. Though, Nathan did have a bit of an advantage…

Aside from being the single most profitable asset of these events, due to his lack of safety gear and general underdog appearance, he was also dating the mafia man's daughter. Technically, Alexi Iconovitch was Svetlana's third cousin, once removed. He'd adopted Svetlana as his daughter ten years prior, and, as far as Nathan knew, had no idea of her abilities (or his, for that matter). Maybe that would help his case…

* * *

Ten minutes later, sure enough, two more men - tall, broad shouldered; the generic thug type - approached Nathan from behind. They assisted (carried) the young man from the broadcasting table to a white limousine that had been parked a distance away; it had gone unnoticed in the freezing snow. He caught sight of a small flatbed beyond that, where his bike was already being chained down for transportation.

The men assisted (pushed) Nathan into the back, then climbed in, trapping him in the middle seat. Nathan shifted self-consciously and tried not to move his injured limbs too much. It had hurt enough to be dragged off; he didn't want any bumps in the road to make it worse. The limousine drove off, disappearing from the scene of illegal activity.

The ride was long and quiet. Nathan stared down at his muddy boots the entire time, afraid to so much as glance out the window. Every now and again, he'd hear the clink of glasses and bottles from the in-vehicle bar as they rattled to the roughness of the road. The window between the backseat and the driver was tinted, and had what looked like a bullet hole punched through the top corner. Nathan risked a glance at the two men on either side of him.

"….you two aren't much for conversation, are you?"

"Почему делают беседу с целью?" One of the men smirked. The other chuckled deeply.

"…..right….." Nathan sighed and went back to staring at his boots. He only spoke a little Russian, and none of it was fluent. Still, Nathan sank down in the seat. He had a very bad feeling about those words.

* * *

Svetlana bit her lip in concern as the broadcast came to an end.

Though the broadcast had been interrupted moments after Nathan's crash, it had only been cut off after it was confirmed that Nathan was, in fact, alive. It had returned back at the starting line, and Svetlana had been able to spot Nathan sitting behind the broadcaster's table - still in one piece, though sitting a little lopsidedly. Before the cameraman had taken off to follow the last rider, however…she had seen one of Alexi's henchmen approaching the young American.

That was not good. The young woman pulled off the ring she wore on her left hand and began to twist it anxiously between her fingers. She knew where Alexi would be taking Nathan - he'd brought many riders there, and sometimes brought her along to watch - and it carried no good will. A good number of the riders Alexi had brought there never went home. She knew Nathan couldn't die….unless he was very unlucky….but that did nothing to silence her worries.

Svetlana sat at behind a corner table, staring down at the laminated wood as she twisted the ring, while people all around her filed out of the pub. The doors and windows had been unlocked, and the cloths were being taken down and folded. When two shadows fell across her table, Svetlana didn't move. When one called her name, however, she had to look up.

"Svetlana Iconovitch." The young woman looked up. Standing in front of her were a tall Russian man, with very pale blonde hair, in jeans and a Metallica T-shirt, and a blonde American man who looked remarkably ilke Nathan, wearing jeans and a T-shirt bearing a silkscreened image of Captain America's iconic shield.

"…yes?" She replied at length. The Russian man spoke.

"We need to talk."

* * *

Alright. To be honest, I didn't need to break up the first three segments - they could have flowed together. But that's a lot of text. Call me lazy, but I felt that breaks were needed.

1) **Sile Authoress** - If Russia hasn't made the connection yet, he will soon. ^_^ Alfred…..is a different story. XD

2) **cross-over-lover232** - Yes. France has more than one kid. XD He's not the unlucky nation with the most, though.

3) **Startora** - Thanks for the support! 8D

4) **LuckyNumbers** - Yep. ^_^ The Nation/human hybrids have extended lives, like their nation parents….they also may or may not represent a city/territory/state/protectorate/town/county of said parent nation, so that might have something to do with it. XD


	10. Chapter 10

I should probably be devoting some of this creativity to my animation project. XD College profs. are not forgiving...and yet you all still get Ch. 10. XD I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

Uh oh.

"Talk?" Svetlana repeated, still twisting the ring. "…about what?" Alfred glanced at the ring, then up at the woman's face. She had brown hair, long, but tied back and wrapped up on her head. She had smooth, pale skin and…purple eyes? Alfred blinked. There were only a few people he knew with purple eyes…and they were all nations.

"Your father." Ivan continued. "Alexi Iconovitch." Svetlana stopped twirling the ring and adopted a guarded look.

"….you are from law enforcement, da?" Alfred started. 'Da'? Only Russia said 'Da'! "Looking for Bratva?" She frowned. Ivan nodded.

"We know about Trick Club. We were here for it." Svetlana sat back.

"Obviously…Beth's Pub closes after the broadcast." Alfred leaned forward on the edge of the table, speaking next.

"You know Nathan Cameron, don't you?" He could feel Ivan glaring at him for interrupting and changing the topic, but he shoved aside the automatic shiver and focused on Svetlana. The young woman smiled softly and nodded.

"Yes….I know Nathan." She began twisting the ring again. "I've been his manager for a while now…" Alfred glanced at the ring.

"And something else…?"

"….yes." Svetlana's thumb rubbed over the red stone on the ring - a class ring, Alfred now noticed. "It got complicated, a while back…" She looked up at Ivan. "You were about to ask my connections with Alexi Iconovitch?" She guessed. Ivan nodded. "I am his legal ward, and technical heir. To what, I do not wish to know." She snorted. "He is nothing but deceitful coward who hides behind those he sweet-talks into trouble." Alfred leaned back, a little surprised by the venom in the young woman's voice.

"Alexi tricks people only looking for thrills and fun into paying him fees for sponsorship," Svetlana continued. "And then he makes sure they pay." Alfred glanced sidelong at Ivan, but the Russian seemed satisfied with this answer, so he spoke up.

"How did Nathan get involved in this?" Svetlana looked at him.

"…you are Jones, da?" She chuckled quietly. "Nathan has spoken highly of you. He does not make new friends that often." Her small smile faded. "He got involved the same as any other. He wanted to trick ride for fun, but…after few bad crashes…Alexi offered to pay repairs. Nathan agreed, and started riding again." Svetlana paused. "…this was before Nathan and I met. By that time, Nathan was already in debt. Pretty deep."

"Deeper than most?" Svetlana glanced at Ivan, somewhat suspiciously.

"…yes."

"That would require a countless amount of crashes. Nathan is only 18, da?"

"19." Svetlana narrowed her eyes, but Ivan kept his childish smile in place.

"To crash so often, and be so deep in debt, he would have some serious scaring, da?" Svetlana didn't answer. "Perhaps he would walk with limp? Yet he walks just fine." Ivan's smile widened just a little. "Or has he crashed many times over longer period?" Svetlana stiffened. Alfred glanced at Ivan.

"Dude, what're you doing?" He stage-whispered. Ivan just grinned.

"Alexi Iconovitch is not your real father, correct?" Svetlana's hands fell still, laying the ring on the tabletop.

"No." She replied quietly. "He is not. He adopted me, officially, in 2000." Ivan's smile seemed to shift into a devious smirk.

"My sources say you have not aged much at all since 1959." Svetlana froze, and Alfred looked at Ivan incredulously.

"Okay, WHAT are you talking about, crazy commie?"

"Yes," Svetlana added. "Do explain." Ivan grinned.

"Okay. In 1890, I got lonely, so I had affair with Russian woman. It only lasted one night, and I have not seen her since, but when I got Miss Iconovitch's file, I got curious, so I looked up that woman and traced her family tree. She never got married, but she had one daughter." Ivan paused, letting that information sink in. He watched as first Svetlana understood his story, and (several minutes later) Alfred. The childish smile widened.

"Let us start over, da?" He held out his large hand. "Hello Svetlana, I believe I am your father."

* * *

When the limousine finally stopped, so had the snow. It had built up to at least six inches, and the wind was still blowing when the men opened the doors and assisted (dragged) Nathan out into the cold. They ignored his yelps of pain and escorted (dragged) the young man into what had been, at some point in the past, a roadside gas station. Now, the pumps were gone, the store was gutted, and most of the windows were boarded shut.

Nathan was escorted (dragged) underneath the overhang that had once sheltered refueling cars, and was released (tossed) ahead of the two men. "Wait here." One of them ordered. "Mr. Iconovitch will be out momentarily." The two men turned and walked into the board up store portion of the station. Nathan looked around, putting all his weight on his right leg, as he was sure his left wouldn't hold him up. He watched the flatbed pull in on the other side of the station and unload his bike. It still looked drivable, so if he survived this meeting, he could still drive home…

At least the cold was numbing his broken limbs.

"Ah, Mr. Cameron!" A smooth voice called out. "So good to see you again." Nathan cringed, but slowly inched his way around to face Alexi Iconovitch. The man was about Nathan's height, with salt-and-pepper hair, dark stubble on his chin, and a stocky body. He smiled, and Nathan cringed, both for the thinly-veiled malice and the tobacco stained enamel. "I trust you have $3500, as agreed."

"Um….y-yeah…ah….about that…I….I need another day….or…two…" Alexi dropped his smile and 'tsked', walking forward through the light snow dusting the wind had blown beneath the overhang.

"Nathan, Nathan…" He shook his head, and patted the young man on the back much harder than necessary. "You know I do not like to wait."

"I-it's not like that!" Nathan protested, trying to remedy a situation he'd already obviously soured. "I have $3000, I-I just need a little more time to get the last $500…" He unzipped his jacket awkwardly, pain lacing every movement as he reached inside and pulled a wad of cash from an inner pocket. "I-I swear I can get it…." Alexi reached up and plucked the money from Nathan's hand. He held it up, as if examining it, all the while holding Nathan in a friendly one-armed hug that did a remarkable imitation of a chokehold.

"You say you need more time, da?" Nathan nodded miserably, already watching his chances of success freefalling. Alexi sighed as he slipped the money into an inner pocket of his own jacket. "Alright." Nathan's mind ground to a halt.

"Wha'?"

"You may have your extra time." Alexi released Nathan and patted his cheek in a frightening impersonation of a friendly gesture. "How does three days sound?"

"F-fantastic…" Nathan squeaked, unsure if this were a good or bad thing. Alexi turned and walked back toward the boarded up store, where four of his henchmen were waiting, fanned out in a semi-circle.

"You are one of my best riders," Alexi called over his shoulder. "People never think you will win, so they bet against you, and then lose big when you score highest for your crazy tricks." The mobster chuckled. "I know you are reliable…if not a little immature." Nathan wisely held his tongue on that remark. "However…." Alexi stopped in front of the doors and turned around. "I cannot be having you think you can get away with extra time again." He snapped his fingers, and his four men moved forward.

"You may have your three days….but consider this a warning, Nathan Cameron. You will not be given more."

* * *

"Whoa, wait a minute!" Alfred threw up his hands in frustration. "YOU have a KID?"

"It is true." Ivan smiled. "Even I did not know until now."

"But…but…" Alfred floundered. "I didn't even know we could HAVE kids!"

"Not so loud, Jones." Ivan warned. "There are still eyes watching." Alfred glanced behind them and noticed the bartender, paused in mid-swipe of a dirty rag across the counter. The woman looked away quickly once caught, and Alfred frowned.

"….why don't we take this outside?" Ivan nodded.

"Smart, for once." Svetlana slid out from behind the table and stood up, straightening her coat.

"We can talk in the extra parking area….they do not place cameras beyond the front door." The young woman led the way out onto the snow-covered street, then across to the now empty parking lot, where they stopped just beyond the glow of the dim street lights. Svetlana crossed her arms against the cold, looking up at Ivan, who seemed nonplused with the weather, despite his bare arms.

"So…you are different, too, da?" She guessed. "You heal quickly? You live long? You cannot die?" Ivan nodded.

"I personify the nation of Russia. I would not be surprised if you do not personify some part of my country, as well." Svetlana didn't answer right away.

"…I assume you did not look for my mother after that night?"

"Nyet. There was no reason to. We were both lonely, and kept each other's company for a long, cold night. After that, we parted our ways."

"And yet here I am." Svetlana smirked mirthlessly. "You never even thought this might happen?" Ivan shrugged.

"I had spent a lot of time with a vodka cellar. My head was not clear." Outside this conversation Alfred's mind was spinning. Ivan had a kid? Russia - psychotic Russia! - had a kid? With a human? Wait…if Russia could have a kid with a human….then…..

Alfred's eyes widened. Uh oh. Ivan wasn't the only one who'd slept around. What if he….? But how would he find-…..wait….several details began to click in Alfred's head. The similarities…the dog tags he wore for good luck…..the faded name patch on the jacket he thought he'd lost long ago….

"Where's Nathan now?" Svetlana and Ivan looked at Alfred, the prior a little surprised by the seriousness of his tone.

"…probably with Alexi." She replied. "There is old gas station where he brings his riders when they need to play…" She shivered, though not for the cold. Things happen there that should not be legal. I-….I can take you there," She offered. "He has brought me there before. I think I can remember the way." Ivan and Alfred shared a look.

"I was dropped off." Ivan replied. "You shall drive, Jones." Alfred was already pulling his keys from his pocket.

"Black Sedan. Get in and buckle up."

* * *

Three segments this time, but longer ones. ^_^ Cliffhangers and Determined!Alfred abound! I'm always worried about how I write my villains...is Alexi Iconovitch believable?

1) **Rain Karami **- Yes. Yes she is. XD I'd say Russia was pretty blunt about it, wouldn't you?

2) **Sile Authoress** - Thanks for catching that! Even when I'm sick, I should still use Spell Check...

3) **Triangular Prism** and **LuckyNumbers **- Shockingly, England only has one kid. XD But considering her personality, one is plenty!


	11. Chapter 11

Really, this is taking over my mind. XD Though that may be a good thing...Final Animation Project, I'll finish you sooooon!

EDIT: Freaking glitching inability to hit the right button. -_- Sorry everyone - the first update, I accidentally re-posted Chapter 9. I hope I've fixed that problem, now.

* * *

The drive was long and tense. Alfred had Svetlana sit in the front passenger seat, to navigate through the storm, while Ivan sat behind her. For the first twenty minutes, no one spoke; only Svetlana broke this silence, to tell Alfred to turn or which lane to be in, as they approached the highway leading out of town. The going was slow, because the snow was too new to have been plowed, and too deep to simply plow through without snow tires. Even so, Alfred's knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel, hardly letting go but to turn.

"You have known Nathan long, da?" Both Svetlana and Alfred jumped, not expecting Ivan to talk.

"….many years, yes." Svetlana replied at length, turning slightly to glance back at the man she now knew as her father. "We met at one of these events, not long after I had moved to America. Alexi had only just started his…'business' at Beth's." She smirked. "We did not actually talk much that day. Nathan said hello, I tried to ignore him, he followed me around the pub until I would talk to him." She chuckled. Alfred smirked.

"That persistence sounds familiar, doesn't it, Jones?" Ivan asked with an innocent air. Alfred's smirk dropped. "Obnoxious. Annoying. Always center of atten-"

"Okay, Braginski," Alfred growled. "We get it." Svetlana smirked quietly, hiding it behind the collar of her jacket.

"You really are like him…" She mused quietly. Ivan gave his daughter a curious look. If he heard her, though, Alfred gave no indication. He kept his eyes focused on the snow-covered road ahead. "Turn right in the next half mile," Svetlana added in a louder tone. "That should bring us right to the station." Alfred nodded to show he understood. Ivan looked at his daughter, picking up on something she had inferred that Alfred had obviously missed.

Or had he?

Now Ivan glanced at Alfred. The other's blue eyes were focused on the road, looking toward a dark patch in the grey world outside that was slowly growing. Had he put together the puzzle yet? Or was he really as dense as most believed?

* * *

Alfred pulled into the station much too fast; the car slid on the snow as he hit the brake, fishtailing and pulling an action-movie styled stop just beneath the overhang. The snow had stopped again, and despite the extra inch of white, tire tracks and dark flakes of rust were still visible; Alexi and his men were long gone. Nathan's red Kawasaki was leaned up against the boarded up store, covered in snow, scratches, and muddy stains. Svetlana was the first out of the Sedan, throwing her seatbelt back inside as she ran forward.

"Nathan?" She shouted. "Nathan, where are you?" When she got no response, the young woman bit her lip. Ivan and Alfred climbed out of the car and looked around. Aside from the tire tracks and the bike, there were no indications that anyone else was there. Alfred shielded his eyes, as if that would help him to see.

"Nathan?" He yelled. His voice echoed under the overhang. "Nathan?" Ivan merely looked around. There were many little things being missed. Svetlana couldn't see because she was worried. Alfred couldn't see because….well, because he was Alfred. But he had spent his life in the snow. He knew all it could hide….and all it could reveal.

There. In the snow near the corner of the building. A tiny speck of something red. Ivan walked over to the spot, bent down, and picked up a scrap of red cloth. He held it up to better examine it; cotton, dyed, one side clean while the other had ground in dirt and tiny specks of gravel and reflective yellow paint. From a motorcycle crash, perhaps? Ivan stood up, holding the scrap of cloth.

"Jones. Svetlana." Both turned to look back at him. "I have found something." Alfred reached him first and snatched the cloth.

"Nathan was wearing a red shirt! This must be his!" He realized.

"Это плохо." (This is bad) Svetlana shook her head. "If Nathan is still here, then he must be hurt." She moved past Ivan and Alfred and turned the corner of the building. "Nathan? Nathan, can you hear me?" A muffled groan was her reply. Svetlana whipped around to the source, Alfred rushing to her side. "Nathan!" Something alive moved beneath snow that had drifted up against the back of the building. Blue eyes flickered open, teeth clicking rapidly in the cold.

"…'V-…'Vet..?" Svetlana and Alfred moved at the same time, both brushing aside an inch and a half of snow, both white and red, to uncover the young man. Several times, Nathan winced, or cried in outright pain when broken limbs, skin, or bruises were touched. Alfred felt his heart break as he took in the young man's injuries.

Most obvious were the bruises and blood; Nathan's teeth were a filmy red, and the vital fluid was smeared across his face in a vague handprint, barely covering a darkening bruise. One of his eyes was slowly swelling shut, and shallow gashes of varying sizes surrounded his eyes. Upon closer inspection, Alfred found the twisted remains of Nathan's glasses - lenses shattered - lying in the snow, jagged edges stained red.

His body lay limp, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Nathan's fingernails and lips were already a pale bluish tint, and now that he was uncovered, he was shivering noticeably. His jacket lay nearby, half-buried in snow, and his red T-shirt was ripped and bloodied. Nathan winced as Alfred brushed a little snow off of his shoulder and groaned.

"Not t-…to sound ungrateful'r…anything…" He rasped. "….but…..ow, man…" Alfred smiled mirthlessly.

"I'd say that's a bit of an understatement, kid…"

After brushing off the last of the snow, Alfred and Ivan (who had appeared behind the others at some point in time between finding the cloth and finding Nathan) lifted the young man, and carefully carried him back to the Sedan. Alfred popped open the trunk, and Svetlana flattened the third row seats, taking off her jacket and using it as a makeshift pillow for Nathan as he was lifted inside. The young man winced as the trunk of the Sedan pressed against his back, but he kept quiet. Alfred tossed his keys to Ivan.

"You drive." Ivan blinked.

"Are you sur-"

"Yes. Now drive."

"But this is not my c-"

"Get in the damn car and drive." Alfred snarled and climbed into the back with Nathan. He glanced at Svetlana.

"Get up front with your daddy. Get us back to town." Svetlana nodded and scurried around to the front passenger seat. She quietly buckled up, looking back at Nathan and Alfred through the rearview mirror before Ivan adjusted it.

"I would advise you to hold tight." The big man smiled brightly. "I am not known to be safe driver." Without waiting for a response, he slammed his foot on the gas and swerved out onto the road, seemingly oblivious to Alfred's shocked shrieking, Nathan's yelp, and Svetlana's curse.

As soon as the Sedan had steadied - now traveling at a rapid clip down the snowy road - Alfred turned to Nathan, making sure that the young man was laid flat, and wasn't jostled around too much. He look down, and their eyes met. Nathan sighed heavily.

"…you're mad…..aren't you…?" Alfred paused. Was he mad? Could he really be mad at Nathan for being a teenager, and getting in over his head? That was practically a given for his age group….no. He wasn't mad. He couldn't be.

"What happened?" Alfred asked quietly, bypassing Nathan's question. The young man closed his eyes.

"…Alexi gave me n'extention…on my deadline…..but he said….even though I'm reliable….I can't….go thinking I can…..ask that again…." He paused, breath hitching as a bump in the road jostled his injuries. "…he said….this was a warning…" Alfred rested a hand on Nathan's forehead.

"You could've told me, you know." He frowned. "I could've helped you." Nathan shook his head weakly.

"Nah…" He rasped. "I c-an't drag you into this…you're still….on the outside…..b'sides…." He coughed. "Th's's….my problem…not yours…I c'n still be….my own hero…" Alfred was silent for several long minutes. When he spoke again, it was in a soft, questioning tone.

"Nathan, when were you born?"

"December 1st…1951…." Nathan cringed, slowly slipping away from consciousness.

"What was your mother's name?" Alfred pressed. Nathan didn't even open his eyes.

"Elsie…..Elsie Cameron…" Alfred sat back from the now unconscious trick rider, his mind spinning. It had been fifty some years since he'd first known that name - on the nametag of a young diner waitress; the first person to give him a smile and a kind word after his return from the Korean war. Elsie. "El".

Alfred dropped his head into his hands. Could Nathan really be….? But, he'd only spent one night with "El"! He'd been drunk off his ass, to boot, and had left in a hurry the moment he'd woken up, forgetting half his clothes in the process. Could…..could that one night have really…?

The American looked at Nathan again. They really did share an uncanny resemblance, and it was (sort of) scary how alike they acted, thought - even talked! Alfred frowned. He….He couldn't be sure, yet. Not on circumstantial evidence. He needed solid proof….and he could find it at the hospital.

* * *

When Nathan came to, he found himself staring up at a blank white ceiling. For the longest time, he couldn't remember why it seemed so familiar. Then he became aware of a steady beeping sound, and a dull ache throbbing throughout his body. Oh yeah. The hospital. Now it clicked. Nathan blinked and turned his head, looking about a now-familiar room. The blinds were shut, blocking out the warm afternoon light (afternoon? Had he been out that long?), and his jacket was slung over the back of a chair in the corner. A chair occupied by a familiar face.

"You're awake." Alfred spoke first. He propped his chin in his hand on the armrest. "How do you feel?"

"Like a freight train ran me over…" Nathan groaned. "Then switched into reverse and ran me over again…" He glanced down the bed, noting the casts around his legs and arms, and the numerous bandages. "….ach….this looks worse than it feels, actually…" Alfred stood up and walked over the the edge of the bed.

"…hey Nathan, can I ask you a question?"

"Shoot, man…."

"Where did you get this jacket of yours?" He gestured back at the item of clothing hanging on the back of the chair. "You're not in the military, are you?" Nathan shook his head.

"Nah…my mom gave it to me…" He recalled. "Said Dad left it behind." Alfred fell silent for several long minutes.

"…hey, I'm gonna go call Svetlana," The blonde finally excused himself. "The hospital wouldn't let more than one of us stay with you, so she spent the night in a hotel." Alfred started to back out of the room. "I'll come back in a little while, alright?" Nathan waved one hand limply.

"Sure…whatever…" Alfred left the room, quietly closing the door behind him. Then he pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number.

"….Hi Marcy! It's me! …..yeah, did you get it? Good! Can you run a comparison for me?"

* * *

Marcy isn't a very important character, sorry to say...just a science-junkie Alfred knows. XD She probably works for the D.C. Crime Lab or something...

1) **Albino Squirrel** - No, sorry. Feli and Romano don't have kids. XD Neither does Greece...but Lithuania draws the short straw, here. XD

2) **mmaxreader** - Sorry, Ludwig doesn't have kids, either. XD But yes, Prussia does have the most.

3) **Triangular Prism** - Yes, this story does move in arcs. XD My brain can't handle all those characters, backgrounds, and present-time dramas all at once! D8


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12~XD I really should be focusing on my schoolwork...but this idea keeps beating me over the head with Hungary's frying pan. XD Oh well. To the readers go the spoils!

* * *

A few hours after Alfred had called, Svetlana arrived at the hospital. She followed signs and asked nurses for directions until she found the right room, and lightly rapped on the door. "Nathan?"

"Hey, 'Vet!" The young man sounded oddly cheery, considering his injuries. "Come on in!" Svetlana opened the door and moved inside, closing it behind her. She turned to give Nathan a gentle smile.

"You're certainly perky today." She noted as she shrugged off her coat, draping it on the chair alongside Nathan's own. "You are in hospital for many painful injuries. You should be sad and moping." Nathan smirked lopsidedly and gave an awkward shrug.

"Should be, but I'm not. I'm rebelling!" Svetlana giggled as she walked over to the side of the bed. She ran her fingers through his ashy blonde hair, and then sighed.

"What are we going to do…?" She wondered. Nathan's smirk turned devious.

"I can think of a few-"

"Not what I meant," Svetlana interrupted with a waggle of her finger. "I meant, what are we going to do about your debt situation." She frowned, and Nathan's smirk faded as well. "You can't afford to keep paying Alexi, and you know he won't let you go easy."

"I know, I know…" Nathan growled. "I just…..no, actually, no, I don't know." He groaned. "I'm in way over my head, 'Vet…." Svetlana frowned sympathetically and ran her fingers through his hair again. "I don't know what to do…."

"Then perhaps…it is time to call for help, da?"

"…huh?" Nathan blinked and looked up at her cluelessly. Svetlana frowned warningly. Realization clicked in Nathan's eyes. "Oh! You mean Laura!" He frowned. "I dunno, 'Vet…would she help? It's been years-"

"Twenty, to be exact." Svetalana interrupted again. "But she told us we could call if ever we needed help." She smiled at Nathan knowingly. "And we certainly need help, da?"

"….da." Nathan sighed in defeat. "Can you grab my phone, then? It's in my jacket pocket. Laura's number two on speed dial." Svetlana walked across the room and reached into the jacket pocket, fishing out Nathan's reliable old flip phone. She opened it and turned it on as she walked back, scrolling down to the correct number before pausing.

"Will you talk to her? Or shall I?" She asked. Nathan made a face.

"I had better…" He sighed. "I'm the reason we're calling in the first place…" Svetlana pressed the correct button and handed the phone to Nathan. Or, rather, she laid the phone on the pillow beside his head, since both of Nathan's arms were still in casts.

"It's ringing." She told him.

"I can hear…" Nathan grumbled.

* * *

She was used to working late nights.

Laura Archer leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms up above her head and arching her spine until she heard a soft pop. With a relieved sigh, the professor of World History sank down against the padded seat back, taking off her glasses for a moment to rub her eyes. "So many papers.." She sighed. "So many mistakes…..ugh, why can't people use their bloody punctuation correctly…" Laura let her hand fall off the side of the chair and closed her eyes. She sat like this for several minutes, reveling in the peaceful quiet that was her office at Oxford.

After a while, she cracked open one eye to glance at the clock hanging on the wall above the office door. "3 am….." Laura sighed and sat up. "Better start packing up, then." She spoke aloud as she began to organize her various papers and books. "It's a long walk back home." As she reached for the brown leather shoulder bag she used to carry her things, however, the old landline nestled in the corner of the desk began to ring. Laura let out an uncharacteristic growl and picked up the receiver. "Oxford College department of World History, Professor Archer speaking."

"_Laura? Hey, it's Nathan. Remember me? I know it's been a while…_" Laura blinked, so the speaker continued. "_…twenty years, I think. You said if I ever needed anything, I could call you?_"

"Nathan…Nathan….oh!" Suddenly, it clicked. "Nathan Cameron, the American boy!" Laura smiled. "It's good to hear from you, lad. What is it you need?"

"_Uh….w-well…_" Nathan hesitated. "_…you remember how, when you found me and Svetlana….we were….kinda….in trouble with the Bratva_?" Laura's smile faded.

"…Nathan Cameron, don't you dare tell me you got back on their bad side!" She growled.

"_N-not on purpose_!" Nathan protested. "_Things just g-got out of control_!" Laura sighed long-sufferingly and sat back in her chair, spinning it so that she could rest her elbow on the edge of the desk.

"Tell me what happened, then….and don't you dare skip on the details!"

Twenty minutes later, she was shaking her head at the outrageous story. "Bloody hell, boy…" Laura shook her head as Nathan finished his explanation. "You're lucky that wanker didn't kill you!" She sighed. "Listen. I'm attending a conference with a colleague or two of mine in Richmond, Virginia this weekend. My flight leaves early tomorrow." She explained.

"I'll be arriving a few days ahead of schedule, so I'll stop by before the conference. Which hospital are you in again?" Laura picked up a pen and grabbed a pad of paper from her desk, scribbling down the name, city, and state. "Alright, I've got it." Laura switched the phone to her opposite hand. "Don't worry, lad. We'll get things straightened out." With a smile and a quiet goodbye, Laura hung up and stood, tearing the note from the pad and tucking it in the front pocket of her shoulder bag. She slung this over her shoulder, and paused to straighten her business skirt before leaving.

It was, technically, tomorrow morning, her flight left in only a few hours, and if she wanted to arrive early, she'd have to get the lead out.

One ten hour flight and three hours at baggage claim later, Laura Archer arrived at the Richmond International Airport. By the time she managed to find her bag, check in at the right desk and find her rental car, Laura was all but dead on her feet. The woman managed to drive herself to her Marriott hotel, check in, and trek up the stairs to her room, where she dropped her bags and collapsed on the bed.

Hotel beds were always so comfortable. Laura sighed in relief and snuggled up to the pillows. So soft and fluffy and cloud-like; the best thing for a good nights' sleep after a long, grueling flight from one country to the next. Warm sheets, weightless mattresses, oh, it was Heaven! Laura pulled off her glasses and set them on the side table before curling up around the pillows again for a well-deserved and needed power-nap, before she turned around and drove all the way up to D.C.

* * *

"Nathan, don't cheat!" Svetlana scolded.

"I'm not cheating!" Nathan whined. "I really haven't!"

"Broken bone doing an every day activity?" Svetlana raised an eyebrow. "With all injuries you've had over last fifty years, none came from simple activity gone wrong?"

"Nope." Nathan grinned proudly. "All my unfortunate incidents that happened were either motorcycle-related or freak accidents." He laughed. "Okay, okay, my turn!" He thought for a minute. "Never have I ever…..kissed an Italian." Svetlana guiltily lowered one of her ten outstretched fingers. "What?"

"It was before I met you!" She protested. "He had silver tongue and great teeth…" She sighed. Nathan growled jealously.

"…it's your turn again…."

"Alright." Svetlana perked up. "Never have I ever…." She leaned in close, wearing a devious smirk. "…been a man."

"…..that's good to know, but totally unfair." Nathan lowered one finger. "Never have I ever…been a woman." He shot back. Svetlana lowered another finger.

"Touche." She replied. "Never have I ever….been hit by a freight train." She giggled.

"That's not fair!" Nathan protested, lowering another finger. "That's way too specific!"

"But you still have finger to drop." Svetlana laughed. "Just take your turn, little baby." She taunted. Nathan glared.

"Never have I ever…" Alfred and Ivan chose this moment to enter the room. "…been too drunk to do a kegstand." Nathan finished. A moment of shocked silence pervaded the room, whilst the two youngsters traded glances with their startled parents. Then Nathan began to giggle, and Svetlana joined in, until the two were laughing too hard to speak. After a minute passed, and they were able to breathe again, Svetlana wiped her eyes.

"Been too drunk to do a kegstand?" Svetlana repeated incredulously. "Really? Where do you get these things?" She asked Nathan.

"Laura." Nathan replied seriously.

"Who's Laura?" Alfred asked. Nathan awkwardly swiped at his eyes with one of his casted arms, not so successful in wiping away the laughter tears.

"A mutual friend," He explained. "Who gives us hilarious material."

"You two are certainly happy today." Ivan noted aloud, wearing his signature childhood smile. "You were playing a game, da?"

"Da." Nathan grinned cheekily. "It's called 'Never Have I Ever'. Each player starts with all ten fingers held up, and they you go around the circle, saying different facts that you've never done. If someone else in the circle has done that, they have to lower one finger," He explained. "Once all ten fingers are down, that person is out. Last one standing wins." Ivan tilted his head.

"It is much fun with two people?" He asked.

"Only if you don't mind getting nowhere." Nathan laughed. "We've been at this for two hours now. Most of the stuff we say is bullsh-"

"Not true." Svetlana interrupted. Nathan pretended to pout.

"I can curse if I want…" Svetlana gave him a look and he quieted, looking away innocently.

"So…" She turned to Ivan and Alfred. "Do you have good news? Or bad news?" Alfred smirked.

"That depends on how you look at it." He snickered. "Ivan wants to talk to you outside." Svetlana glanced at the taller Russian, who grinned widely.

"Father-daughter bonding." He explained. "We have several decades to catch up on." He wrapped an arm around her shoulder in a tight, attempted fatherly hug and led her out of the room. Alfred closed the door behind them, smirking.

"I never pegged him as the 'bonding' type…" Nathan muttered, eyebrows furrowed in thought. Alfred shrugged.

"I never pegged him as the 'dad' type," He added. "But there you go." Nathan nodded.

"….so, would she start living with him? Or…is she still stuck with Alexi?" He asked quietly. Alfred sighed.

"First we'd have to catch Alexi…then we can decide." He reached out and ruffled Nathan's hair. "Don't worry, kid. We'll get this all straightened out." Nathan smiled and blew some ashy blonde hair out of his face.

"…so, are you different, too?" He asked. Alfred quieted. "I just figured, since that guy's Svetlana's dad and all, and he's still kicking…that she got it from him." Alfred still didn't respond. "….are you?"

"…I am." Alfred replied at length. "I'm just like you."

* * *

Introducing another OC - hopefully not too soon. XD Also: Never Have I Ever is an awesome game. But it's more fun with multiple players. XD Less than 3, and the game goes nowhere...it gets really wild, but it goes nowhere. XD

1) **Rain Karami** - France and China have kids; Spain, Japan and Korea don't. XD I actually reeeaaally want to make a Canadian kid, but Canada seems more the type to wake up alone, rather than wake up and leave. XD I DO have a character on standby, if I can give Canada a kid...it'd be so fun! XD

2) **Nomad92** - I impress people? 8D I feel so happy!

3) **Albino Squirrel** - Of course! 8D How could I possibly leave out the Awesome Prussia?

4) **All Other Reviewers** - You all are making my YEAR! Seriously, thank you SO MUCH for all the support and critique! 8D


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13...enjoy. XD It's one of the shorter chapters, I admit...Lot of little stories, all coming together.

* * *

There was another long minute of silence. What was this, the third one today? They were really beginning to grate on Nathan's nerves. The young man waited as long as his patience allowed (a grand total of four seconds) before speaking up. "Okay, so…what are we?" He saw Alfred hesitate. "Come on, you gotta know. Gods? Aliens? Freaks of nature? Government experiments to create super humans? What?" Alfred chuckled.

"No, no, no, and no." He paused. "While I can't speak for you, I…am the personification of the United States of America." He watched that little fact sink in. "Who I am, and who I'll be, is determined by the people of this country - what they feel, I feel. When they fight each other, I feel pain…when they go to war, I feel them die." He hesitated again.

"There are others like me. Others like you, I'll wager, too. I can't be the only one who's slept around…" Nathan's face contorted in confusion. Alfred waved it off. "I'll explain in a minute...You've met Ivan - he's the personification of Russia." Alfred stopped and shifted his weight. This was a lot harder to say than he'd originally planned. But, Marcy had put a rush on that test….and he couldn't argue with its results.

"While you were unconscious," Alfred admitted. "I had a friend of mine at the D.C. Crime Lab run a little test…." He sighed. "And the results came back a few minutes ago. I'd started suspecting something from the moment we met, but…this just proves it right, and honestly, I never thought it could be right." Nathan raised an eyebrow. This was a nice, dramatic wind-up and all…but what was the point?

"Nathan….I think I'm your dad."

* * *

Outside the hospital, between the parking lot and the street, there was a small courtyard, complete with a memorial bench placed beneath an overhanging tree. Svetlana sat beside Ivan on this bench, both silent beneath the chill December wind. It wasn't an awkward silence, though, but more of a comfortable understanding. Most of Svetlana's life was already in the file Ivan had received before coming to Amereica - there wasn't much she could tell him now.

"Хотели бы Вы тот?" (Would you like one?) Svetlana blinked, and turned to see Ivan offering her a small box. Inside were several small chocolates. One was already missing, and Ivan was chewing with a wide grin on his face. "Они восхитительны." (They're delicious.) The young woman smiled and picked a sweet from the box.

"Спасибо." (Thank you.) She popped the treat in her mouth and squeaked. "Это восхитительно!" (It IS delicious!) She gasped. "Это настолько сладко!" (It's so sweet!)

"Большинство шоколада." (Most chocolate is.) Ivan smiled. A few more minutes passed, this time filled with the sound of father and daughter happily munching on a sweet treat from their homeland. "So you like the American boy?" Ivan asked after a while.

"Da." Svetlana nodded. "You do not approve?" Ivan smiled childishly.

"Of his father, no." Svetlana smirked.

"Fatherly protectiveness or past grievances?" She asked. Ivan shrugged.

"Bit of both, da?" He admitted. "Jones and I do not get along much. He has bad memory. Still thinks I am communist." Svetlana smiled softly.

"I have no idea where he got that…." She muttered. "….but what do you think of Nathan?" She asked. Ivan paused again.

"He is too much like his father."

"Отец…" (Father…)

"Fine, fine." Ivan recanted. "He is nice boy. Stupid, but nice." He added. Svetlana smiled.

"I guess that is all I can ask, da?"

"Da."

* * *

It was a quiet day at Arthur Kirkland's London home. The sky was clear (for once), and the sun was bright. The weather was finally good enough for Arthur to sit out on his porch with a thick book, a plate of (burned) scones, and a nice warm cup of tea. Arthur sat back in the deck chair and settled himself before picking up the book and removing the bookmark. Finally, he could finish up those last few chapt-

The ringing of the Star Spangled Banner interrupted Arthur's anticipation and ruined his mood. Growling, he threw in the bookmark, slammed the book down on the table, and snatched up his cell phone (why hadn't he left that inside?). He spared a quick glance at the caller ID before flipping the phone open.

"Alfred," He snarled. "What reason could you possibly have for interrupting my peaceful, git-free day?"

"_Big news! I mean, REALLY big news_!" Alfred yelled. Arthur jerked the phone away from his ear momentarily.

"Bloody idiot - keep your bloody voice SITUATIONALLY APPROPRIATE!" He stopped yelling when he realized the irony in his own statement. "But fine….what is this big news you just had to tell me?"

"_Okay, remember that kid I met last week_?" Alfred asked. "_The one who looks just like me_?" Arthur sighed, but nodded.

"Yes, Alfred, I remember…" Alfred laughed.

"_Good. Anyway, I followed him to this bar and I ran into Ivan and that crazy commie punched me, but then the bar went into lockdown and started showing these illegal stunt shows on the TVs and Nathan was one of the riders!" _Alfred stopped and took a deep breath.

"_He crashed but he survived and then the Russian Mafia got all up in his face about unpaid debt and me, that crazy commie and his daughter had to go out and find him, and he was all buried in snow and bleeding and had all these broken bones, so now we're at the hospital and he's recovering_." It was a long, painfully silent moment before Arthur could articulate an appropriate response to this stream of unpunctuated dialogue.

"….what the bloody hell are you talking about?" He growled. "Russian Mafia? What the hell have you gotten into?"

"_I'm not the one in trouble, Iggy_." Alfred pointed out.

"Don't call me Iggy!" Arthur snapped. His mind zeroed in on another part of the conversation and he stopped. "Wait a bloody minute….did you say Russia has a daughter?"

"_Yep_!" Alfred replied. "_Crazy, ain't it? I'm shocked any women ever slept with that crazy bastard_." Arthur frowned.

"Russia…..has a child…." He sat back, in something akin to shock. The Englishman reached over and picked up his cup for a soothing sip of tea. "I didn't even know we were capable of having children…." Something suddenly occurred to Alfred.

"_OH. I almost forgot! Iggy, I'M A DAD_!" He burst out. Arthur's tea promptly ended up watering his porch.

"…WHAT!" He choked.

"_I know, that's what I thought at first, too_!" Alfred admitted. "_But then I had a DNA test done, and it came back positive! Nathan's my son! I even remember his mother! Elsie Cameron, diner waitress - I slept with her in 1951_!" Arthur wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and decided against commenting on Alfred's lack of tact on his final statement.

"Well, have you told him yet?" He asked.

"_Oh, yah! Just a few minutes ago!_" Alfred chirped. Arthur frowned.

"And how did he take it? He inquired.

"_Oh, he passed out_."

* * *

Laura woke up feeling refreshed and recharged. The weather was clear, and her jet lag was gone. She spent an hour or two lounging around the hotel room, enjoying the peace and free breakfast, before she packed her bag and checked out. Then, she began the long drive up to Washington D.C.

She always loved visiting America - it was a much wilder place than England, even in modern day. Very few people here knew her as 'Professor Archer', no; here she was just another foreign tourist. It was an exhilaratingly thrilling new start. Laura smiled, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel as she drove. She had the perfect outfit for galavanting about the American capitol before her business convention all planned out.

Granted, it would probably make Nathan and Svetlana cringe. She could still remember the looks on their faces the last time she had dressed down around them. You'd have thought they had never seen someone with great fashion sense before. Laura shrugged off the thought and returned to navigating. Damn Americans driving on the wrong side of the road.

And where the hell was her exit?

* * *

Lots of little segments this time - sorry. BUT...big reveal~8D Sorry folks - my 3D Foundations final is tonight, and my final animation project is due. My focus just wasn't there. Buuuuut...this was the best of 29 drafts...so...yah. XD

1) **Sile Authoress** - ...I think I have a new one-shot idea. 8D May I use that?

2) **PokkiChoco** - I LOVE you SO much right now! 8D

3) Big thanks to everyone else!


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14 is up! XD Sorry to keep you all waiting, but classes are over (until Monday) and I've passed! 8D So I was out celebrating. XD

* * *

After two hours of driving, and a pit stop or two for food, gas, directions and a bathroom break, Laura finally pulled into the parking lot of the Washington Hospital Center. She left her luggage in the car, and paused only long enough to feed a little Friskies to the occupant of the pet carrier in the backseat. Then, leaving the windows cracked, Laura locked the car and headed into the hospital.

She was used to getting odd looks when she came to America, and that's exactly what she got when she walked through the main doors, dressed head to toe in black and acid green, with spiked bracelets and a collar, and a red scarf draped casually around her neck. Laura ignored the double-taking staff and patients-in-waiting and walked up to to the front desk.

"Pardon me," The secretary looked up. "I'm looking for a friend of mine who was recently admitted - one Nathan L. Cameron. Could you please inform me as to which room he is in?" The secretary looked Laura up and down, from the dark blonde hair with acid green streaks pinned up into a peacock-styled bun, to the too-short, pleated black skirt over bright green leggings and black combat boots.

"…are you a family member?" She asked in a bored tone. She saw weird and crazy people all day ever day. This outlandishly dressed, obvious tourist was nothing new.

"The holder of power of attorney, actually." Laura replied, her tone switching from calmly polite to clipped impatience. "And a friend of the patient. Please tell me which room he has been placed in." The secretary looked down at her keyboard, away from Laura's piercing green eyes. What obsession did this woman have with green?

"May I ask who is visiting?" She asked, already pulling up the appropriate visitation form.

"Laura Archer." The woman replied. The secretary nodded and filled in the form, applying the information she had already been given in the form of a thinly-veiled barb.

"Nathan Cameron is in room 322," She supplied. "Just down the hall and to the left. Take the stairs up two floors, and follow the signs." Laura smiled, immediately back to her former cheery persona.

"Thank you kindly, ma'am." She nodded to the secretary and walked in the indicated direction. As soon as Laura was out of sight, the secretary sighed heavily.

"Freaky British tourist…" Down the hall, Laura heard the echo of the insult and growled.

"Annoying, vapid, typewriter-slave…" She growled in retaliation. The woman pushed open the door to the stairway and entered a cool tower of steps, where sound echoed significantly from top to bottom. Laura took her time climbing the steps at a leisurely pace, enjoying the heavy clop of her boots on the concrete. There was a stairwell just like this back at Oxford; she'd always wondered how the acoustics would sound there. Perhaps this was a good indication?

Laura finally reached the third floor, and left the stairwell for the correct set of rooms. The numbers on the doors started at 300, and counted up, odds on the right, evens on the left. Laura followed the numbers until she reached room 322, and knocked politely.

"Who is it?" A familiar voice called.

"I'll give you three guesses," Laura smirked. "And the first two don't bloody count." She opened the door and walked inside, her smile growing at the same time as Nathan's. "Got your self into more trouble, have you, you git?"

"Laura, be nice…" Nathan whined. "It really wasn't my fault this time!"

"No…" Laura agreed, walking over to the young man's bedside. "I can't blame you for being an idiot with an adrenaline addiction, can I?" She smirked humorlessly. "But I can blame you for not calling sooner." Nathan looked away guiltily.

"I didn't want to get you involved….the Bratva has a big reach, and…" Nathan trailed off. Laura sighed….and smacked him upside the head. "OW!"

"Get this through your thick skull, you git." She growled. "I've been taking care of myself since the 1700s. I'm not afraid of some 30 year old Mafia wanker who thinks that, just because he carries a gun, he's a bloody god." She frowned. "Give me five minutes with any of them, and I'll have them crying for their bloody mummies before the clock hits 4:59." Nathan smiled quietly.

"…..thanks, Laura." Laura's smile softened.

"No trouble, kid." She ruffled his hair. "We have to stick together, you know." Nathan smirked.

"Yeah…..hey, can I ask you a question?" He asked. Laura shrugged.

"I suppose."

"Did you get dressed in the dark? Or did your closet throw up on you?"

"….."

SMACK!

"Ow! Laura!"

* * *

The winter wind was cold in D.C., though not nearly as cold as a wind anywhere in Russia in winter. Ivan thought the weather was quite balmy as he walked around the hospital perimeter with his daughter. Svetlana still clung to her fur coat, but this was more out of the need to keep her hands busy, than for cold, as she never shivered when the wind picked up.

To be perfectly honest, Ivan had never planned on being a father. He had no knowledge of how to be one, and even less knowledge of how to deal with a daughter who may be just like him. It helped that Svetlana was neither a young child nor a teenager - as he had heard that they were the most difficult to deal with - but a young woman instead. She had already gone through puberty, and that was something Ivan was not prepared to deal with.

He glanced sidelong at his daughter, and realized again how much his daughter she really looked. Her hair was certainly that of her mother's - long, silky, and brown - but her eyes were just like his. She carried herself in a proud manner, despite the stress surrounding her everyday life. Her attitude toward the world was guarded, like his - albeit his form of guardedness manifested in childish immaturity, while Svetlana's appeared to be more of a foreign aloofness. She was far from that, however, if her attitude toward the American boy was anything to go by.

Before long, they had circled around the whole hospital, and the parking lot several times. They talked of different events in their lives, getting to know each other little by little. Svetlana learned about her two aunts, Belarus and Ukraine, and how terrified her father was of the former. Ivan learned that Nathan was not Svetlana's first significant other, though he was the first she became serious with. The two returned to the hospital, and took their time walking back to Nathan's room, still talking. Svetlana reached the door first, opened it, and gasped.

"Laura!" The young woman hurried inside to hug the older woman standing beside Nathan's bed. Ivan walked into the room and quietly shut the door, looking over this odd green-and-black woman with a raised eyebrow. Svetlana pulled back from the hug, smiling brightly. "I did not think you would get here so fast." Laura grinned.

"Never underestimate the power of a smile, a posh accent, and a good old-fashioned 'get-me-on-that-plane-before-I-rip-you-a-new-one' speech." She laughed. Ivan blinked. A British accent? Punk clothing? Colorblind fashion sense? Why did this remind him of someone? Svetlana reached over and tugged on his sleeve, urging Ivan to come closer.

"Laura…this is my father." She introduced him. "My real father, Ivan Brakinski." She looked up at Ivan. "Father, this is Laura Archer…she's like us."

* * *

Arthur could feel a migraine coming on. He leaned forward in his chair, propping one elbow on his knee as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "He passed out." He repeated.

"_Yup._" Alfred replied over the phone. "_He kinda stared at me for a minute, and then he sorta went limp_." Arthur sighed heavily.

"How long ago was this?"

"_Erm….an hour? Give or take? I left the room after that so I could call you_." Alfred admitted. "Um….Iggy? Can I get some advice?" Arthur felt a vein in his head twitch.

"Don't call me Iggy," He growled. "…and what sort of advice?"

"_Fatherly advice_…" Alfred paused. "_I didn't think I could ever really be a dad….I don't know what to do! You raised me! Tell me what to do_!" Arthur sighed.

"It's not that simple, Alfred." He replied. "You need to spend time with Nathan. Get to know him. Bond. Don't let him to stupid things. Etc." Alfred laughed nervously.

"_Well…considering the circumstances we met under, I think it's a little late for the last one…_" He muttered. Arthur facepalmed.

"I don't want to know." He muttered around his hand. He dropped it to hls lap and sighed. "Listen Alfred, there's no 'How to be a Dad' guidebook - you make it up as you go."

"_But what if I screw up_?" Alfred whined. Arthur's eyebrow twitched.

"He can't possibly turn out any worse than you." He retorted. Alfred didn't seem to accept this answer.

"_You have to help the Hero be a dad! Come over here and help me_!" He demanded. Arthur growled.

"Alfred, I can't just drop everything and fly to Americ-" Alfred interrupted him in mid-sentence.

"_Yes you can. Leave tonight. Call me when you land. _" Arthur blanched.

"Alfred, I can't-" He was rewarded with a dial tone before he could even finish protesting. Arthur snarled in frustration and slammed his phone down on the side table, nearly upsetting his, now cold, cup of tea.

How could that self-absorbed American possibly expect him to drop everything and fly across the Atlantic to deal with a problem that wasn't even his? There was no way in bloody hell he'd ever go! Ever!

* * *

Laura has arrived, Ivan and Svetlana did some father-daughter bonding, and Alfred is being...well, Alfred. XD

1) **Sile Authoress** - Behold! Punk!Laura in all her glory! XD

2) **Aviantei** - Thanks for reviewing! ^_^ Good luck with your story

3) **QueenTutahkhamun** - XD You know you're putting ideas in my head, right?

4) Everyone else - Thank you so much for the support and reviews~ ^_^


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15. XD My fingers hurt, now...and the damn power went out, so I lost half of this the first time around. Grrr...I lost a lot of good stuff.

* * *

"Like us, da?" Ivan repeated. He smiled childishly. "If this is true, then I think I know your father, Laura." Laura raised one eyebrow, moving the small silver piercing along with it.

"Oh you do?" She seemed skeptical. "You know a man from the 1700s?" Ivan nodded.

"He is friend of mine." He smiled. "He will be very surprised to hear about you." Laura's hip cocked to one side as her weight shifted defensively.

"Will he now?" She noted flatly. "Are you sure he wouldn't be more interested in his own wild agenda?" Ivan stared at her. Laura frowned. "My mum didn't know much about my father - only that he was a bloody pirate. While I understand that he must have changed with the times, I have a hard time picturing the wanker as anyone else." Nathan whistled.

"Oooh…..someone has daddy issues." He commented. Laura flicked his forehead. "Ow!"

"Nathan, do us all a favor - shut up and stay out of this." She commanded. Ivan giggled.

"Da. You are definitely his daughter." He pulled his phone from his coat pocket. "I will call him now." Nathan frowned and rubbed his forehead awkwardly with his one good hand. The doctors had removed his arm casts a few hours prior to Laura's arrival, and though they were still wrapped in heavy gauze, they were healing nicely.

"Geez, Laura…no need to be violent…" He muttered.

"Oh, you want to see violent?" Laura narrowed her eyes. Svetlana stepped between them.

"Now, Laura, no beating up hospital patients." Ivan watched the scene with a smile, waiting until the ringing of his phone finally stopped.

"_What the bloody hell do you want_." Arthur growled irritably from the other end of the line.

"Pleasure to see you too." Ivan smiled. "I just called to tell you that you're a father."

"…_…WHAT?"_ Nathan, Laura, and Svetlana all cringed at the sudden increase in volume, though Ivan appeared unaffected.

"Her name is Laura, and she is four hundred years old." Ivan continued cheerily. "She dresses quite wildly, too."

"_WHAT DO YOU MEAN I HAVE A DAUGHTER?_" Arthur yelled. Ivan chuckled.

"You were not listening, friend?" He laughed. "I don't want to repeat myself. I would suggest you come to America to meet her. She seems to know my daughter and Jones' son." There was no reply for several long minutes. "You will come, da."

"_Y-yes….of course…"_ Arthur finally replied, still sounding quite shocked. "_I'll arrive tomorrow night_."

"Wonderful!" Ivan said cheerily. "We shall see you then!" He hung up and put his phone away. "He will arrive tomorrow night." He announced to the three startled youngsters. Laura and Nathan both looked at Svetlana.

"Straightforward, ain't he?" Nathan mused.

* * *

Outside the hospital, Alfred sat on a bench in the courtyard. He'd been there for a while, since hanging up with Arthur. He'd sent about four texts since them - all of which had gone unanswered - pestering the former empire to come over to his place. He really needed help, here! How was he supposed to be a dad? Heros didn't know how to be dads!

At least, this one didn't.

Alfred sighed and sat back, wondering if Nathan had woken up yet. Since the young man had fainted upon Alfred's (rather blunt) declaration of parenthood, he thought it might be better if he left until Nathan woke up. Admittedly, he hadn't wanted to stay. He wouldn't admit this to anyone - since heros don't get scared, after all! - but he was….afraid of this.

Dads were supposed to be responsible, right? Teach their kids right from wrong? Keep them out of trouble? Protect them? What had he done? Nothing! He hadn't even known his own son existed until now. That's not heroic!

Alfred facepalmed. Feeling sorry for yourself wasn't heroic, either. Heros don't mope! They take action! Re-motivated, Alfred leapt up from the bench and struck a heroic pose, earning himself an odd look from the hospital groundskeeper passing the courtyard. That was it!

He'd be a hero - a dad - starting now! He'd make up for all that lost time…somehow!

Invigorated, Alfred ran back inside, leaping up the stairs and tripping heroically over the last one. He fell headfirst into the hallway door, smashing through it, since it was solidly closed. A young nurse shrieked in shock and dropped her stack of clipboards and papers as she leapt back against the wall. Alfred sat up and brushed splinters out of his hair.

"Um…..that was an accident." He stood up and brushed off his jacket, flashing the shaking nurse a smile and a double thumbs up. "Don't worry - the hero's okay!" Then he walked casually down to Nathan's room and walked inside. The young nurse looked at the shattered door, now scattered across the hall floor, checked her own pulse, and then walked away to get herself checked out for hallucinations.

* * *

"_Transatlantic Flight 367, with service to Washington D.C., America, now boarding at Gate 87_."

"Finally." Arthur folded his newspaper and packed it into his carry on suitcase. He pulled out his ticket and strode over to the airport gate. Handing the ticket to the attendant, Arthur boarded the transatlantic flight with a knot of dread in his stomach. As he stored his luggage in the overhead compartment, he told himself over and over that he was NOT going to America to help Alfred. He was only going because his….'daughter'….was visting the wanker's son.

The thought hit him as he sat down and buckled up for take off. A daughter. He had a daughter. Not a colony. Not a territory. An honest to goodness blood-related, flesh and blood daughter. Arthur rested his chin in his palm, his mind searching back through his centuries of life. When had he ever….wait….

Oh Lord. Elizaveta Archer. Now he remembered. Arthur sank low in his seat at the memory. It had been right smack in the middle of his wild pirate days - his Glory Days, true, but he'd done a lot of things back then that he regretted modern day. But it seemed that only one of those things had left evidence.

Four hundred year old, female, apparently rebellious evidence.

"Crap…" Arthur muttered, mentally smacking himself. Not even his own advice to Alfred seemed to help, now. Get to know them, bond, blah. This wasn't like raising any of his former colonies or territories. How do you bond with someone who probably hates you for shagging and leaving their mother in the 1700s?

How was he supposed to know this would happen!

A flight attendant passed by, checking the overhead compartments, and gave the man a pleasant smile. Arthur returned it automatically, though it faded as soon as the woman had passed. He had ten hours to think of ways to deal with this problem…oh lord, this was going to be a long flight.

* * *

Four hundred years was a long time to live. Especially for someone who never expected to live past thirty.

Laura leaned out the window of her hotel room, an unlit cigarette dangling from her fingers. She'd left the hospital a few hours prior, as had Svetlana and Ivan. Alfred, the man Nathan had introduced as his father, had opted to stay with his son overnight. She really shouldn't have been so surprised - the family resemblance was blatantly obvious.

Slim fingers twirled the cigarette, debating the pros and cons of lighting it. On one hand, the nicotine boost would feel wonderful. But on the other, she'd need to go out and buy a lighter or book of matches - she couldn't bring her own through security. Laura sighed and then settled for chewing pensively on the unlit stick. She needed to kick this damn habit, anyway. One night seemed as good to start stopping as any.

Her thoughts turned towards her own father, due to arrive the next night, and Laura glanced up at the overcast sky. Even after four hundred years - even after seeking out and successfully contacting others like herself - she hadn't been able to find out much about the man at all. She didn't even have a name, only her mother's description: a pirate, with large, bushy golden brows, and eyes as green as the grass of her native Ireland.

Admittedly, her mother had been much too enamored with the man. Already a widow at the age of twenty, her mother had been a passenger on a charter ship that had suffered an unfortunate run in with a sea-faring pirate crew. The captain had taken a shine to the lonely, attractive woman…and history had been made from there.

Laura grimaced and tossed the chewed, unlit cigarette out the window. Those things really did taste nasty when not used as they were intended. With a sign, the young woman closed the window and turned away, walking over to the small coffee table, where she'd spread out several paper towels, a bottle of polish remover, and her favorite bright green paint. Laura sat down and carefully picked up the brush, coating her nails meticulously with the same acid green as the streaks in her hair. She paused after one hand and admired her work, smiling.

She loved the freedom of America.

* * *

Pity that poor nurse. XD Alfred probably got her admitted.

1) **LuckyNumbers** - Yup. Laura is a pirate child. XD

2) **Queen Tutankhamun** - Ooh, that sounds interesting~

3) Everyone else - Thank you so much for your support and comments!


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16! ^_^ My classes don't start again until Monday, so hopefully, I'll be able to churn out another chapter by then. More Nationites (or Nationlings, if you prefer XD) should start appearing soon - the Trick Club arc is almost over.

* * *

"Meow…" Laura set aside her book as her blue British Shorthair, Barnacle, jumped up on her lap with a swish of his tail. She sighed and stroked his soft fur with her fresh green nails.

"Barnacle, what have you got against a good book, eh?" She chuckled. The feline just arched his back with her hand, purring contentedly. Laura rested her head on the back of her hand as she pet the fortieth incarnation of her beloved companion. "Hm…just want some attention, do you?" She mused. "To unwind from that stressful flight from London?" Barnacle purred and turned around on his owner's lap, to get more petting. Laura sighed. "Look at me. I'm talking to a cat."

She stood up, cradling Barnacle along one arm, and strode across the hotel room to the bed, where she dropped him. Barnacle immediately curled up on one of the pillows and wrapped his tail around himself. "Don't go getting too comfortable, sweetie," Laura warned. "We're checking out in two days. We have to be on time for the conference." She smiled. "Good thing it's a holiday weekend in America, eh?" Barnacle started grooming his paw. "Oh, what do you know?" She walked into the bathroom and faced the mirror.

Even by her standards, she looked a sight. The hair dye had taken quite nicely to her dark blonde mop, creating a frightening contrast that drew one's eye right in to her own green eyes. A round silver piercing on her left eyebrow broke up the line, as distracting as a laser pointer to the eye. Laura smirked at the irony of her rebellious look rebelling again against conventional flow.

Her eyes skated down again, to her black lipstick, then to the spiked collar around her neck. Boy, had she gotten some stares for that while checking in. Laura laughed aloud, remembering the look on the clerk's face when she'd first arrived. Barnacle looked up at the sudden sound, quickly lost interest, and returned to grooming his hind leg. Laura shook her head and moved over to the bed. She sat down on the edge and scratched her feline friend's ears.

"Barnacle, what do you suppose that bastard's like nowadays?" She mused. Barnacle stopped grooming to look up at her. "I mean, I understand he must have changed with the times, my father…" She continued. "But how much, do you suppose?" Barnacle meowed. Laura raised her pierced eyebrow. "You think the man's grown up, now?" She clarified. Barnacle swished his tail. "I find that rather hard to believe, my furry friend." Barnacle meowed and stretched before curling up with his back to his owner. Laura frowned.

"Oh fine, be that way."

* * *

Looking out his window, he could already see the lights of the city below. Arthur leaned back in his seat (which wasn't very far, as the seats had to be returned to their proper upright positions for landing) and sighed. Not much time left, now. He'd meant to spend the entire flight figuring out how to handle the meeting of his daughter - instead, he'd fallen asleep twelve minutes after take off.

And after eight shots of provided whisky, but that was beside the point.

The plane began to circle and drop, drawing closer and closer to the runway with each pass. A shudder ran though the floor as the landing gear dropped down, and the plane straightened out for a final pass. A final descent, a jostling bump, and the mighty roar of the wing flaps as they were lowered to brake the plane. Arthur felt himself shoved forward by his own forward momentum, before the plane slowed to taxi speed.

The former empire let out a soft sigh and sat back. It's not like he was afraid of flying, it just felt good to know that they were back on solid ground, and not 30,000 feet above it. He waited as the plane taxied to the gate, and the fasten seatbelt sign turned off. Then, he unbuckled, retrieved his carry on, and deplaned as soon as the doors were open.

Since he had no other luggage than the small wheeled suitcase he'd carried aboard with him, he could bypass baggage claim completely, and head straight for the taxi service. Arthur rarely rented cars on his American visits, unless he were staying for an extended period (which almost NEVER happened). The damned things had the wheels on the wrong side, and they drove all wrong. He'd rather kiss Francis than be caught driving an American car on a weekend visit.

Arthur soon managed to hail a taxi, and gave the driver the address of the hospital Alfred had texted him (repeatedly) the night before. During the drive, the cabbie tried to make idle conversation. At first, Arthur tried to reciprocate, but after a few minutes, the man's butchery of the English language forced the conversation to a halt. Silence reigned for the remainder of the drive.

When they finally arrived at the hospital, Arthur paid the taxi driver, took his luggage, and strode inside without a further word. He marched up to the front receptionists desk, ready to ask which room he needed, when the secretary looked up.

"Oh. Another one." She drawled. Arthur blinked. "Here for the Cameron boy?"

"If his father goes by the name of 'Jones', then yes." Arthur nodded.

"Room 322." The secretary turned back to her typing without a further word. A little put off by this attitude, Arthur huffed and turned away, heading for the stairwell. He marched up two flights of stairs, and paused when he reached the shattered third floor door. The splinters had been cleared away, but the broken door still clung to its hinges. Arthur sighed heavily.

"Alfred…." He realized. He stepped carefully through the jagged gap, hoisting his bag after him, and moved down the hall. "318…320….ah, here we are. 322." Arthur paused in front of the correct room and knocked.

"Who is it?" A familiar voice sing-songed.

"The one you've been texting all day, you git." Arthur growled. Alfred opened the door immediately, wearing an alarming grin.

"IGGY! You made it!"

* * *

"_You love the way I look at you, while taking pleasure in the awful things you put me through…you take away if I give in_…" Barnacle growled at the violent interruption to his nap and got up, running across the bed to pounce on Laura's cell phone. The woman quickly rescued the device from the irate feline.

"Oh hush, it's just Nathan." She lightly tapped the cat on the nose, then flipped open the phone to answer the call. "Nathan? 'Ello, boy. How is the hospital food?"

"_Gag worthy_." Nathan replied. "_But it's all they let me eat, since they caught dad sneaking hamburgers past the front desk_." Laura laughed softly.

"So, he's 'dad' now, is he?" She inquired. "You haven't known you were related for more than a day." She could almost hear Nathan shrugging.

"_So? I know now. That counts for something, right?_" Nathan didn't wait for Laura to answer. "_Listen, are you busy right now?_"

"Mm…not really." Laura replied. "Just enjoin the freedom to be me in America….and entertaining Barnacle." She heard Nathan gasp.

"_You brought Barnacle? Ooh! Can I see him?_" Laura snorted.

"After you get released from the hospital." She ordered. Nathan groaned in disappointment. "Why did you need to know?" She asked.

"_Right!_" Nathan's train of thought switched to the right track. "_You're dad's here!_" Laura paused.

"Oh…." She didn't sound too excited. "He is, is he?"

"_Aww, don't sound so excited._" Nathan joked sarcastically. "_The guy actually seems nice. Sarcastic and still in the closet, but nice. Give him a chance, kay?_"

"….fine." Laura huffed. "I'll be over in twenty minutes. I need to settle Barnacle first."

"_Okay!_" Nathan agreed. "_We'll see you then, and remember - dress to impress!_" He laughed at his own joke and hung up the phone. Laura hung up as well and glanced down at her vibrantly contrasting outfit. Dress to impress, eh? She smirked sardonically. This would be just fine. Perhaps a little more green eyeshadow? Or a lipstick touch up? Laura glanced at the clock and decided against it. If she touched up anything now, she'd spend the twenty minutes she had to drive just finding her damned makeup bag.

The young woman arrived at the hospital and had to park a fair distance away. She walked across the parking lot and into the front lobby, shooting the receptionist a sly smirk. "Room 322, I know, love." The receptionist narrowed her eyes, but didn't reply, and turned up her nose as Laura tromped by. She quickly climbed the stairs, but stopped when she reached the third floor door.

"Bloody hell…" She poked the jagged edges with one green nail. "What hit this poor thing, a bloody canon ball?" Laura looked around, but there were no signs saying she couldn't continue, so the woman ducked through the hole and continued to room 322. She knocked, then opened the door and walked inside without waiting for a response.

For a long minute, they simply sized each other up, Arthur's eyes wide as he noted Laura's acid green and black ensemble, Laura's eyes narrowed as she noted Arthur's bushy golden brows and green eyes. The girl moved first, letting her hand drop from the doorknob, and letting the door swing shut on its own axis as a rebellious tilt seeped into her hips.

"So." Laura spoke first. "You're the bloody limey who spawned me?"

* * *

Ooh, Laura...language, language. XD Well, this is rated "M".

1) **Albino Squirrel** - Well, they've met. XD Until the next chapter, I'll leave Arthur's reactions up to you.

2) **Triangular Prism** - Unfortunately yes. While it would be cool if some of the female nations had children, I'm pretty sure they would know. XD And the whole point here is "OMG I HAVE KIDS? WTF?" XD

3) **Mosseyed wolf** - Here you go! ^_^

4) Everyone else - Thank you so much!


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17! Prepare for an angry British rant, a lot of slang terms, and a loooong list of Nationlings. XD You've been warned.

* * *

Arthur sputtered. "Excuse me?" Nathan cringed.

"Ooh…not the way I was expecting things to go." He admitted. Laura crossed her arms, straightening her posture stiffly.

"You expect me to be all warm and fuzzy to a man who romped and left my mother?" She snarled. Arthur's face flushed at the description, and he immediately became defensive.

"That was centuries ago!" He argued. "I'm not that kind of man anymore."

"You think that matters?" Laura shot back, striding forward until she was nose to nose with her father. "I'm living proof that you bloody well were!" Nathan and Alfred traded looks.

"This could get very ugly very fast…" The young man frowned. "I can technically walk now…" Nathan whispered, pointing out that his legs had healed enough to support his weight. "I say we check out and hide out until this blows over." Alfred nodded.

"Deal, dude." He helped Nathan slide out of the bed, and then the two sneaked out of the room, while Laura and Arthur continued to rip into each other.

"Did you think you could just run around and have your fun with any woman that caught your eye?" Laura ranted. "In those times? I don't care if you were a bloody pirate! Do you have any idea how infatuated my mother was with you? She thought you were the best damn man on the planet, and she never even got your bloody name! Quiet!" Laura snapped as Arthur opened his mouth to get a word in edgewise.

"You left her to sail back home - up the duff, and with no husband to show - like she was some sort of brass flute! I don't care if you were caned, forked, randy or whatever, you cheeky, cheesy, cushy codger! You had no right to bang on her door and scram like you did!" Laura paused, face red and breathing hard from her passionate rant.

Silence reigned in the room for several long minutes, during which, Arthur struggled and failed to come up with a halfway decent response to accusations that he could, in no way, deny. Realizing that he couldn't avoid taking responsibility, Arthur instead tried to find a way to placate his ferocious offspring. This, too, failed to inspire any form of successful thought in his head. Laura regained her composure in the time, sweeping back a lock of dyed hair from her green eyes (just like his) with long, slim fingers.

"….bloody hell!" She growled, attention spontaneously switching from her careless father to the now empty hospital bed. "They sneaked out on us!" Her fury returned, though this time, directed toward the younger American. Arthur sighed, partially relieved to no longer be the target of Laura's fury, and partially annoyed at Alfred for being….well, Alfred.

"They probably snuck off to get something to eat." He muttered. "Nathan's been complaining about the quality of hospital food all day."

"As he would." Laura huffed. "Yankee's got no proper taste buds." She took a deep breath, recomposing herself again, and then headed for the door. "Come on. We'd better find them before the doctors set off a hospital-wide alert." Arthur followed at after a moment's delay, still not too keen on being turned on again. Quite an eventful first meet, he thought.

Certainly not one he'd like to experience again.

* * *

"So…you know Nathan?"

"Aye." Laura nodded as she sipped her cup of Earl Grey. They had been searching for an hour, now, after learning from the (rather rude) front desk receptionist that Nathan had checked out with Alfred's permission, and left, wearing the same clothes he'd crashed in. The father and daughter had managed to follow their trail to a local shopping center - specifically the food court - before they lost track of the Americans.

"I met him in the mid-seventies. Lad had just started trick riding on a pro level. Had quite the arrest record for reckless driving." She mused. Arthur raised an eyebrow as he sipped his own cup of tea.

"Only reckless driving?" He repeated.

"He never actually hurt anyone other than himself," Laura shrugged, "Or caused any damage to anything other than his own bike. He was always caught on empty roads, by the scuffers who take the desolate patrol routes." She took another sip, sighing quietly as the familiar flavor washed over her tongue. "He'd already gotten in trouble with the Bratva by the time I'd found him, and by association, Svetlana."

"I see…" Arthur nodded. "Tell me, do you know of any others like yourself? Besides Nathan and Svetlana, I mean." He clarified.

"Oh, several." Laura nodded. "Four hundred years is a long time without companionship for someone who never expected to live past thirty - I got terribly lonely after about two hundred years." She sipped her Earl Gray. "I began to seek out others like myself, and after a century or so, I found quite a few." Arthur choked. Laura smirked.

"Don't worry old man, I don't have any siblings." Laura giggled at her father's incredulous look. She shifted in her seat and crossed her legs in an unladylike fashion. "Luckily for you." Arthur glowered at her as he straightened up, grabbing a napkin from the table dispenser to wipe away the spilled tea dribbling down his chin and jacket front.

"That's fine by me." He frowned. "So…" He paused, not so sure he wanted to know the answer to this question, but feeling the need to ask it anyway. "How many have you found?" Laura set down her cup of tea, smirking.

"Two in France - separate cities - and five in Germany - all in or around Berlin. One lives in Rajshahi, Bangladash, one in St. Gallen, Switzerland, another in Jonava, Lithuania, another in British Columbia, Canada - currently touring North America - and one is a Shaolin Monk from China - currently living in New York City." She rattled off.

"….oh my."

"Yes. I do believe your fellows have been quite busy."

* * *

"Mmm….so much better than hospital food!" Nathan praised as he and Alfred dug into their McDonald's bags. "I can't believe those nurses wouldn't let you bring this in!"

"I know," Alfred took a huge bite of his burger. "They said something about grease being inappropriate for a hospital setting, but I stopped listening after that." Nathan laughed as he chewed his own food, barely pausing between taking a bite and talking.

"Hey, after this, can I get some new clothes?" He swallowed and took a sip of his coke before gesturing toward his torn red shirt, and the kevlar vest that showed through beneath. "I'm getting some really weird stares from the security guards and people for this…"

"Why'd you put that vest back on, anyway?" Alfred wondered between bites. "Why d'you even have that in the first place."

"I've got the Russian mafia on my ass, dad." Nathan pointed out, pounding his fist on the table for emphasis, which rattled the food. "I have to take precautions!" Alfred shrugged. That logic made sense.

"Okay. We'll find a place after lunch. Sound good?" Alfred suggested.

"Oh yah." Nathan grinned and took another bite of his burger. Across the food court, a young man and an older gentlemen walked through the front door. The younger man, of biracial heritage, was wearing a Vancouver Canucks hockey jersey, and a pair of casual, baggy jeans. The older, caucasian man was dressed in a much more businesslike attire, and checked his watch as he followed the younger man through the crowded food court.

"We only have a few minutes, Mr. Ottoman." The older man advices. The younger man mocked him out of his sight. "We need to be at DC Improv by eight."

"Relax, eh." The younger man shrugged. "It's only six, now, and the place is only ten minutes away, eh." He reasoned. "We'll be there in plenty of time." The Canadian waved his hands dismissively. "Now go pick a table or something, eh? I've been dying for some good Thai cuisine since Nashville!" The older man sighed, but obediently moved away to find an empty table. The biracial Canadian grinned triumphantly, and hopped in the line for Mai Thai.

As the older gentleman sat down at an empty table near theirs, something about him caught Nathan's eye. The young man paused in mid bite, a thoughtful look crossing his face, and making him look quite comedic. Alfred noticed this and paused, following Nathan's curious gaze to the formally dressed man. He watched as the other checked his watch impatiently, and narrowed his eyes.

"Nathan…" He asked quietly. "…is that-"

"Nah," Nathan interrupted. "He's not Bratva. Too scrawny." He swallowed. "But I could've sworn I've seen that guy before." He frowned, thinking hard. "Somewhere on TV, I think…but he's not the celebrity…" As Nathan wracked his brain, another young man, with long black hair pulled back into cornrows, walked past their table, balancing a tray piled high with Thai food. The older man sighed as his younger companion sat down.

"Eating like that will kill you, Mr. Ottoman…" He muttered. The younger man waved him off dismissively.

"Whatever," He huffed. "Americans eat McDonald's all the time, and they ain't dead yet, eh." He took a large bite, pausing to appreciate the long-awaited taste before swallowing to speak again. "Besides, I think I'll survive until tomorrow, eh. It won't interrupt the show." Nathan suddenly snapped his fingers.

"That's it!" He cried, attracting the attention of four different tables surrounding them. After a moment, all but the young man and older gentleman looked away. "That's Wyatt Ottoman and his manager!" Alfred stared at his son blankly.

"….who?"

* * *

Who can catch the humor of that last line? XD Anyway, things are going to move much faster now, and there's been a bit of a plot shift - the Bratva are now the main story villain, and will start playing a much bigger part. XD

1) **XxAlysxX** - Don't worry - Prussia doesn't have more than five kids. XD Only three will be really prominent, however.

2) **SunflowerKolKolKol** - First of all, I LOVE your penname. XD Second, don't worry! They'll all get to meet their kids. 8D

3) **Sile Authoress** - Conversation enough for you? XD I think I had too much fun using British slang terms…

4) **LuckyNumbers** - Huh, I guess she would be. XD

5) Everyone else - Thank you so much for the repeated support! ^_^ It really means a lot to me!


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18~ ^_^ Probably one of the shorter chapters...but my new lab schedule is in, and I'm going from 1-5am. XD I've been up since 5pm, watching the clock obsessively to make sure I don't leave late. Hopefully, the next one will be longer.

* * *

"Dad, don't you watch Comedy Central?" Nathan asked in mock horror. "Wyatt Ottoman? He's a comedian from British Columbia, Canada! He's been touring North America for the past three months," Nathan explained excitedly. "I watch his specials all the time! The guy's hilarious!" Alfred blinked.

"How 'come I've never heard of him?" He asked.

"Because I'm a Canadian ninja," Wyatt chuckled jokingly. "If I don't want you to see me, you won't!"

"…cool!" Alfred believed him. "My brother can do the same thing! Dude, you two should totally meet!" Behind his father's back, Nathan facepalmed. Wyatt laughed. His manager looked less than impressed.

"Dad, this is the first of many times I'm going to doubt we're related." Nathan smirked. Alfred just grinned and stuffed a few fries in his mouth.

"So," Wyatt spoke up. "You're a fan, eh?"

"Yeah!" Nathan grinned. "I've followed you on Comedy Central since that first "Night at the Gotham" episode. I love your humor, dude!" Wyatt grinned proudly.

"Great to hear someone so positive, eh!" He shot his manager a glance. "For once." The elder man coughed and looked away. Wyatt smirked and looked back at Nathan. Alfred had since turned back to his fries. "Are you guys coming to the show tonight?" He asked.

"We'd love to," Nathan cringed. "But we weren't fast enough. Tickets sold out before we could get any…" He sighed. Wyatt's smirk turned sly.

"Huh…" He glanced at his manager, already having made up his mind. "Hey Devon, don't we have some extra front row seats?" He asked.

"We do, sir…" Devon replied flatly, understanding his client's plan, and feeling in no mood to argue the point. "Ten, to be exact. Six are still open." Grinning, Wyatt turned back to Nathan, who's eyes were now widening as he pieced things together.

"Have five friends you can bring?"

* * *

Laura watched Arthur dial a number into his phone. He'd been calling his 'companions' for the past ten minutes, and though this number had appeared near the top of his contacts list, her father had pointedly saved (or avoided) it until last. She raised her pierced eyebrow as Arthur lifted the phone to his ear.

"A 'special friend' of yours?" Laura taunted. Arthur shot her a glare, but his daughter just smirked. "Hit a nerve, have I?"

"Hush, I'm on the phone." Arthur growled. His fingers tapped impatiently against the plastic table as the phone rang once…twice…three times before it was picked up.

"_Angleterre! Pour quoi dois-je le plaisir_?" (England! To what do I owe the pleasure?) A smooth voice crooned. Arthur twitched.

"For the last time, frog, I don't speak your bloody language." He snarled.

"_C'est pas beau, mon ami_…" (That is not nice, my friend…) Francis replied. "_If you just called to insult me, I'll hang up right now_." Arthur leaned away from the table as he realized Laura had leaned over to listen in.

"Fine." Arthur shrugged. "Then you'll just be out of the international loop. Again." He paused, knowing his old rival wouldn't be able to resist possible gossip of an international level.

"_Bon, vous avez attiré mon attention_," (Alright, you've caught my attention) Francis relented. "_Ce qui est si important que vous appelez-moi pour un changement_?" (What is so important that you would calme for a change?) Arthur smirked, feeling the need to be quite the devious bastard.

"Over the centuries, you've had more than your fair share of 'adventures in the bedroom', haven't you?" Arthur smirked. Laura leaned closer to listen, but her father placed a hand on her shoulder and shoved her away. "Can you even remember them all?"

"_Si cela est une autre rumeur sur ma sexualité, en Angleterre, puis je suis raccrocher maintenant._" (If this is another rumor about my sexuality, England, then I'm hanging up now.) Francis growled, unamused. Arthur grinned devilishly.

"Shall I take that as a 'no' then? Hey!" He yelped as Laura suddenly lunged, snatching the phone and retreating to the other side of the table.

"_Bonjour. Vous êtes la personnification de la France_?" (Hello. You are the personification of France?) She interrupted, holding her father at bay with one arm. "You have children. Two. One is in Dijon, the other in Rennes. You had sex with their mothers god knows when, and we're trying to get everyone together."

"Since when?" England squeaked - in a manly voice, of course - as he tried to steal his phone back. Laura dodged his attempts and continued talking.

"Me? I'm England's daughter. Laura Archer. Professor Laura Archer," She added. "_Plaisir de vous rencontrer_." (Pleasure to meet you.) Arthur finally managed to get his phone back and yanked it out of Laura's hands. His daughter just smiled triumphantly. Arthur huffed, then straightened his tie self-consciously and raised the phone to his ear.

"….all that aside, we need you to come to America. I've already called the others - we're planning an impromptu meeting in Washington D.C. this weekend to sort this out. Alfred is sneaking us into the Kellogg Conference Center."

"_Of course I will come!_" Francis chirped, much more excited than Arthur had been to learn this news. "_Suis-je vraiment un père? Quelle merveille!_" (Am I really a father? How wonderful!) The Englishman growled.

"Stop sounding so bloody excited." He frowned, his heavy golden brows knitting together. "Just get here by Saturday." Arthur went to hang up, but Laura snatched the phone again.

"Sir! _Une dernière chose_!" (One more thing!) She added. "Before you leave the country, go to Rennes. Find the Saint-Jeanne Orphanage, and ask for a ten year old boy named Benoit Bernard." She ordered.

* * *

After a few more minutes, Wyatt's manager managed to drag him away, but not before he gave Nathan the will call number for the tickets. They stayed a little longer in the food court, while Alfred wolfed down the surviving fries and finished off his soda. Then, he and Nathan left and headed toward the shopping portion of the mall.

"So!" Alfred asked. "Where d'you like to shop?" Nathan thought for a moment, then shrugged.

"Nowhere specific…" He lied. "Hot Topic's got some nice graphic shirts….but I usually just buy whatever fits from wherever." Another lie. Nathan actually really liked Hot Topic's fashion, but considering his financial (and possible living) situation, he could, in no way, shop for it.

Honestly, he was relying pretty heavily on Alfred's generosity for this trip. He had to, in some way, come up with $500 dollars by tomorrow morning - his health couldn't afford to spend anything.

So far, he'd been avoiding the thought, focusing instead on getting out of the hospital, and enjoying the fact that he finally had a father. Now, however, reality was beginning to catch up to him, and a squirming knot of anxiety began to twist in his stomach.

Nathan dropped back a little, letting Alfred walk ahead, not listening as the elder nation rattled on about some teen fashion store somewhere in the mall. Nathan didn't pay much attention, and eventually slowed to a stop in the large hall. Nathan glanced to his side, and caught sight of his reflection in the glass display wall of the GAP they were passing.

Reflected beside a mannequin's pristine, collared polo shirt and sweater-jacket was his torn, dirty and still somewhat bloodstained remnant of a T-shirt, with the battered kevlar vest visible underneath. The white shirt beneath that was still in shreds, and he could still see a few pink lines - what had been horrible road rash scars the day before.

Nathan wrapped an arm around his stomach, hiding the marks, and subsequently hugging himself. He told himself often that he wasn't afraid, but each time, he knew he was lying to himself.

He was terrified.

Even though he had fifty years more life experience than the average person (Laura, Svetlana, and people like Alfred aside), in times like these, he still felt like he was skydiving without a parachute.

Year after year, he'd manage to scrape things together at the last minute to get by….but this time….he wasn't sure he could do it. He kept falling further and further into debt with Alexi, even though he was winning more and more of the man's illegal 'Trick Club' competitions.

Nathan was, admittedly, too afraid to confront Alexi about this uncorrelated decline, and didn't know how else to get out of it but to keep paying. Now, it was seriously affecting his life. His arm tightened against his stomach, and his gaze fell to the tan and white tiled floor.

Why was everything happening all at once? His problems with the Bratva were reaching a peak, he was dangling from the end of his proverbial rope, he'd run into a man he'd found out was his father, and he suddenly knew, if not what, then why he was as strange as he was. Nathan sighed quietly, sagging on his feet.

Suddenly, it felt like the whole world was pressing down on him. He felt dizzy, trying to take in everything that was happening and everything that had happened in just the last three days….

"Hey Nathan," A hand touched his shoulder, and the young man jumped. Alfred frowned. "Hey….is something wrong?"

* * *

Short...defiantly short. XD But, a preview of one of France's kids, at least. XD His youngest, to boot. I hope you all like Mattie's kid!

1) **knightlygirl** - Well, that may slow down in the coming week. XD Schedule change this month, and a loss of my usual sleep schedule. Until I can adjust, I might miss a day or two...

2) **LuckyNumbers** - Yup! 8D A Canadian comedian!

3) **Sile Authoress** - I might actually do a series of one shots for the lives of the 'Nationlings'. XD Aside from Laura, there are a few others who've lived a century or two.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 20~^_^ Oh the things I write while waiting for my 1am lab...

* * *

"Uh…n-no, nothing's wrong." Nathan lied. He pasted on a huge smile and brushed Alfred's hand off his shoulder. "I just spaced out there for a minute. Sorry, man." Alfred didn't look convinced.

"You sure?" He asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"….that's just crazy." Nathan laughed. "I'd be halfway to Tacoma if I'd seen a ghost…" He added under his breath. Alfred frowned, but decided to play along.

"Okay then." He patted Nathan on the back, perhaps a little too hard, and grinned brightly. "Let's go pick a store already - you look like a hobo!"

"I do not!" Nathan protested as his father pulled him along. "At best, I look like a clothed crash test dummy." Alfred snickered.

"I'll second the 'dummy' part…." He dodged Nathan's not-so-coordinated smack and wrapped an arm around his son's shoulders. "Relax, I'm just kidding! ….are you sure you're okay?" He snuck in. "You can trust me. If it's a secret, I won't tell!" Nathan hesitated. His smile faded and his eyes fell to the floor as they walked.

"….I'm not good at stuff like this…" He admitted quietly. "Talking about feelings and stuff, but…" He trailed off for a moment before gulping and continuing. "…I'm in way over my head….how am I gonna get $500 in the next twenty four hours? I-I don't have that kind of money! I'm already three months over on my rent just to make the last payment!" Nathan whined, some of his inner panic becoming visible, now. Alfred blinked.

"Nathan…"

"I'm already living on 99 cent instant noodles. I don't think I can fall any further without losing the apartment!" Nathan continued.

"Nathan…" Alfred tried again.

"If I don't make this deadline, Alexi will kill me. Seriously. He. Will. KILL. Me." Nathan panicked. "I-I don't want to die!"

"Nathan!" Alfred interrupted and gave his son a comforting one-armed hug. "Hey, don't worry." He smiled reassuringly. "You don't have to worry about Iconovitch and his gang of Russian thugs. I'll smooth things out." Alfred promised. Nathan frowned, unconvinced and still worried.

"Dad, it's the Russian freakin' mafia. You don't 'smooth things out', you either obey or die." Alfred laughed humorlessly.

"Don't doubt my abilities, Nattie!" He grinned. "I'm the Hero, remember?" His grin took on a somewhat sadistic edge. "I know people. Talented people. A few somewhat psychotic people." He patted Nathan's shoulder. "The Bratva aren't your problem anymore. Relax." Nathan blinked, a little surprised at this darker side to his father.

"…o-okay-"

"Great!" Alfred interrupted him. His smile suddenly returned to it's usual obnoxiously cheery level of brightness and he pulled Nathan down a side hall. "Oo! There's a great place down this way! I give Iggy jackets from this place! He won't admit it, but he loves them!"

* * *

Wide blue eyes peeked over the top of the plastic gate, peering into the bright room just out of reach. All the other orphaned children were dressed nicely, laughing, and making a good impression on the parents who'd come, looking for a son or daughter to take home.

Someone always went home on these days. Sometimes two, sometimes four; though never more than five. New children were coming in every day, so it was hard to make friends unless you were older. Parents never wanted to adopt the older kids. They all wanted the young children - the ones who were still cute.

He must not be cute enough, though. The little boy whimpered quietly, salty tears building in his eyes as he watched the others grab at a future that was always out of his reach. He pulled his only friend - a plush toy of a bird - close to his chest, digging his little fingers into the feather patterned fabric.

"Ce n'est pas équitable, Pierre…" (It's not fair, Pierre…) He whispered, his tiny voice too soft to be heard by those in the other room. "…pourquoi je ne peux pas avoir une famille, aussi?" (…why can't I have a family, too?)

He sniffed and let go of the gate, leaning back against the wall as he tried to wipe his eyes. The boy sank to the floor, pulled his knees to his chest, and buried his face in Pierre's soft back. Tiny quakes wracked his shoulders, and muffled sobs obscured a set of light footsteps heading in his direction.

"Oh, little boy, why do you cry so?" A hand rested on the top of his head, and Benoit yelped, automatically throwing himself away, though unfortunately, he ended up crashing into the gate. Face still wet with tears, he looked up into the smiling face of a tall, blonde haired man kneeling on the other side of the gate. He smiled through his stubble of a beard and gently patted Benoit's head again, blue eyes shining. "Don't be afraid, Benoit. I'm here to take you home." Benoit's eyes widened.

"... Me ramener chez moi? Vous voulez dire ... m'adopter?" (…take me home? You mean…adopt me?) He asked in confusion.

"Oui!" Benoit squeaked as the man picked him up and lifted him over the gate, setting him in his lap so that the two were facing each other. "You're going to come home with me, because I'm you're papa!"

"…papa?" Benoit repeated quietly. The man nodded. The little boy seemed to shrink upon himself doubtfully, clinging to his plush bird like a lifeline. "Je…Je ai un papa…?" (I…I have a father?) The man nodded, then wrapped the shocked child in a hug. Benoit slowly began to relax, and after a minute, buried his face in the man's shoulder. He never loosened his hold on his plush bird, but a tiny smile crossed his face.

"Que faisiez-vous derrière la porte, mon fils?" (What were you doing behind the gate, my son?) France asked. Benoit's smile faded.

"Il arrive chaque semaine ... Sœur Katherine garde oublier que je suis là, et je reste bloqué là-bas ..." (It happens every week….Sister Katherine keeps forgetting I'm there, and I get stuck back there…) He muttered. His minute burst of confidence disappeared and he hugged his plush bird, retreating in on himself. "Personne ne veut me prendre, de toute façon ..." (Nobody wants to adopt me, anyway….)

"Oh, non, mon petit. Regardez-moi ..." (Oh, no, little one. Look at me…) France tipped the little boy's chin up with one hand and gently wiped away the tears still on his face "Je tiens à vous ramener à la maison, n'ai-je pas?" (I want to bring you home, don't I?) The older blonde smiled sweetly and reached in to tickle his newfound son. "Allez, donne un sourire Papa!" (Come on, give Papa a smile!) Benoit squeaked again, but let out a peal of laughter and tried to hide behind his stuffed bird.

"Papa! Je suis chatouilleux!" (I'm ticklish!) France stood, sweeping Benoit up into his arms as he did. "Allons chercher tous les documents redressé, pour que je puisse vous ramener chez vous." (Let's go get all the paperwork straightened out, so I can take you home.) He smiled.

* * *

It was a lazy afternoon in Dijon, France. The sky was overcast and heavy gray, shadowing the wet streets below. Shoppers browsed the open windows of stores, and tourists wandered the sidewalks, following tiny bronze arrows through the maze of homes and stores to the city museum. In a small three story apartment complex, not far from the museum, the residents were enjoying the lazy day by sleeping in.

Until a phone rang shrilly on the third floor.

Alphonse Berriet was in no mood to get up, but by the third ring, his hand snaked out from beneath the covers and smacked the speakerphone button.

"...résidence Berriet, parlant Alphonse ..." (Berriet residence, Alphonse speaking…) He yawned.

"_Alphonse, get up. It's past noon_." Laura's voice scolded. Alphonse sighed.

"Bonjour, Miss Archer." He yawned. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?"

"_I'm just checking in…_" Laura replied casually. "_…do you remember that project I mentioned to you?_" Alphonse thought for a minute.

"Mmm….finding others like us?" He guessed. "Oui, I do recall…" Alphonse yawned again and laid back down on his pillow. "1896, you said you had hit the proverbial wall. Have you had a breakthrough?"

"_You could say that…_" Laura replied. "_I've found our parents._" Alphonse lifted his head again.

"Qu'est-ce?" He asked.

"_It's a long story…_" Laura waved him off. "_I'll explain later at the conference….you…are coming to the conference, aren't you?_"

"Oui…" Alphonse huffed. "My flight leaves in a few hours. I'm all packed, I just need to get to the airport." He dropped back down to the pillows. "I take it you arrived early, as per usual?"

"_Aye_," Laura confirmed. "_But in all seriousness, Alphonse, I need you to meet me in Washington D.C. After we speak, of course_."

"Of course." Alphonse replied sleepily. "Désolé, Laura, I really do appreciate your call…but I had a very late night…" He yawned. "I would really love to sleep before my flight…"

"_…Alphonse,_" Laura began suspiciously. "_Where were you last night?_" Alphonse hesitated.

"Nowhere illegal." He settled at last. "I was just at a party."

"_Why doesn't that make me feel better_?" Laura snorted. Alphonse sighed.

"Listen, we'd all love to be professors at Oxford," He started, admittedly harsh and snappy. "But most of us aren't so lucky. What I need to do to keep a roof over my head is none of your business."

"_Don't you take that tone with me!_" Laura snapped. "_I'm just trying to be a good friend, here. Don't bite my head off_!" There was silence for a few moments, before Laura sighed. "_I'm sorry, Alphonse….I just worry. If word gets out about your 'second job', all your archeological credibility is ruined._"

"I know…" Alphonse sighed heavily. "But I'd rather risk that than live in the street…" He sat up in bed and ran a hand through his unruly blonde hair. "I shall see you in America, Laura. We will continue this conversation after the conference." Laura sighed, recognizing a dismissal when she heard one.

"_Fine, Alphonse. Get some rest. Ne manquez pas votre vol_." (Don't miss your flight.) She advised. Alphonse hung up the phone, then fell back into bed, burrowing back beneath the warm red sheets.

* * *

Aaaand France's eldest is introduced. XD Sorry if the OCs are moving too fast, and don't worry about Russia and Svetlana - they'll star in Ch. 20!

1) **LuckyNumbers** - Aside from his states, sorry. XD Nathan's America's only kid with a human. Japan doesn't have any kids, either…sorry. XD But that's my personal Giripan addiction bleeding through.

2) **SunflowerKolKolKol** - …I'll warn you now, some the planned-out later chapters DO get rather dark….no death! Just…..dark. XD

3) **Aviantei** - Actually, Benoit is about as far from his father's personality as I could get. XD He's shy, quiet, easily frightened…..his older brother is a different story. XD


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20! XD Hope this is long enough for you all...

* * *

Svetlana hadn't been home for three days.

Granted, this wasn't an unusual occurrence. Considering how the reigning law of the land felt about her family's 'business', it was actually quite common for the house to remain empty, while its owners stayed out to avoid capture or suspicion. Svetlana, however, didn't have much a say at all in how the 'family business' was run, and therefore didn't have much reason to stay away so long. Alexi, at times, would disappear for weeks on end. His 'daughter' had only ever stayed away for 24 hours, at the most.

So, when she walked through the front door as if she'd never left, it was understandable that she received a few suspicious glares from the men sitting around the kitchen table, which was piled high with cards, chips, and empty vodka bottles.

"Ah, принцесса, наконец, возвращается в свое царство." (Ah, the princess finally returns to her kingdom.) One of the men taunted. "Где ты был последние несколько дней?" (Where have you been the last few days?) Svetlana ignored his question and walked past the table, wearing her usual air of superiority.

"Оставьте ее в покое, Pavlov," (Leave her alone, Pavlov,) Another man snickered. "Она, вероятно, был с ней мальчика-игрушки, Nathan." (She's probably been with her boy-toy, Nathan.) The table erupted in laughter.

"Я думал, что мы не должны были побрататься с целями?" (I thought we weren't supposed to fraternize with targets?) Another laughed.

"Дочь босса получает особые привилегии" (The boss's daughter gets special privileges.) The man to his left chuckled. Svetlana growled quietly, but ignored the drunken, off-duty henchmen and continued into the house. She walked up the stairs to the third floor, where an older Indian woman was busy mopping a section of the hardwood floors.

"नमस्कार," (Good afternoon,) Svetlana greeted. She didn't speak much Hindi, but the woman didn't speak much Russian. Her English wasn't much better, either. "घर पर Alexi है?" (Is Alexi at home?) She asked slowly, trying to pronounce the correct words. The woman smiled and nodded.

"Да," She replied, with one of the only Russian words she knew. The woman nodded her head down the hall to their right, where Alexi's office was situated. Since she didn't know the Russian word for what she wanted to say, the woman stayed silent - but Svetlana understood. She smiled sweetly at the woman and bobbed her head in a nod.

"शुक्रिया." (Thank you.) She moved down the hall toward Alexi's 'home office', and the woman returned to her mopping. Svetlana paused at the door, then gently rapped her knuckles against the hard wood. "Alexi," She called. "Вы заняты?" (Are you busy?)

"Да, да, бывают." (Yes, yes, come in.) The familiar voice replied. Svetlana paused, adjusting the collar of her fur jacket to carefully conceal the little black microphone taped to her shirt, and opened the door. "Svetlana, Добро пожаловать обратно." (Svetlana, welcome back.) Alexi smiled from where he stood at the back of the room, half turned from the bookcase that dominated the far corner. "Где ты был?" (Where have you been?) The man chuckled. "Скрытие с, что американский мальчик?" (Hiding out with that American boy?) Svetlana blushed at the insinuated action.

"Я должен был убедиться, что вы не убили ... наш ... наиболее выгодным активом." (I had to make sure you hadn't killed your…our…most profitable asset.) She explained. Svetlana walked into the room and sat down in one of the plush armchairs situated in front of Alexi's mahogany desk. She crossed her legs neatly and sat back, keeping her jacket closed by crossing her arms lightly. "Nathan слишком выгодно, чтобы ранить постоянно." (Nathan is too profitable to injure permanently.) She pointed out. Alexi chuckled and pulled a book from the shelves, leafing through it with no real intention to read.

"Я не могу сделать это, дочь моя." (I cannot possibly do that, my daughter.) Alexi snapped the book closed suddenly, and Svetlana jumped a little at the sharp snap. "Вы должны знать, почему лучше, чем кто-либо." (You should know why better than anyone.) Svetlana growled.

"Вы говорите, как будто он бессмертен." (You speak as though he is immortal.) She replied. Alexi strode slowly around to the front of the desk, still holding the book.

"Я?" (Am I?) He mused. He settled in the second chair, spinning it with one foot to face Svetlana. The young woman didn't respond to the half-rhetorical question. Alexi glanced up at her and laughed. "Вы так уверены?" (Are you so sure?) He lifted the book to show her the front cover. There was some faded gold writing in Russian, but so many letters were broken up, that the title was difficult to read.

"Эта книга," (This book,) Alexi explained. "Был опубликован в 1823 году, по малоизвестным Seiberian автора, который умер год спустя" (Was published in 1823, by a little known Seiberian author who died a year later.) He tapped the cover with a finger. "Он утверждает, что обнаружила породы бессмертных людей." (He claimed to have discovered a breed of immortal humans.) Svetlana snorted.

"Породы бессмертных людей?" (A breed of immortal humans?) She repeated. "Неужели вы не верите, что." (Surely you do not believe that.) Alexi raised an eyebrow.

"Если я не? Эта книга вполне убедительно ..." (Should I not? This book is quite convincing….) He leafed through a few pages. "1702-1753. Знаменитый пират с острова Великобритании терроризировали водах страны. Записанных слов свидетелей дали ему личность молодого человека, несмотря на период 51 лет." (1702-1753. A famous pirate from the Isle of Great Britain terrorized the nation's waters. Recorded words of witnesses gave him the identity of a young man, despite the span of 51 years.) Svetlana shifted in her seat and tugged at her jacket casually.

"Пират истории? То есть ваши доказательства?" (A pirate story? That is your proof?) She snorted.

"Ты говоришь так сомнительно, дочь моя." (You sound so doubtful, my daughter.) Alexi smirked, and the malice hidden behind the white teeth made the young woman shiver. "Конечно, вы знаете, мне достаточно знать, я беру материал для чтения серьезно." (Surely you know me enough to know I take my reading material seriously.)

* * *

An hour or two after leaving the food court, Nathan and Alfred were heading back toward the parking lot, both decked out in new clothes from Hot Topic. Still paranoid about his upcoming deadline - which Alfred kept insisting he ignore - Nathan was still wearing his kevlar vest under his new black T-shirt, which sported a colorful graphic that read "I'm not antisocial - I just hate you". Alfred has found, somewhere in the store, a shirt patterned after Captain America's uniform, and was now wearing it with pride. All in all - a good shopping trip. They had just reentered the food court when their good fortune ended.

"Nathan Lancelot Cameron!"

"Alfred F. Jones!" Both father and son froze and cringed in unison at the two voices screaming their names.

"Uh oh…" Alfred muttered.

"We're in trouble…" Nathan echoed. Laura was the first to reach them, with Arthur hot on her heels.

"Where," Laura's tone caused both Americans to flinch again. "Do you get off, sneaking out of a hospital!" She snarled.

"B-but I was fi-" Nathan tried to protest.

"I don't care if you were bench-pressing your weight in gold!" Laura interrupted. By now, passersby were beginning to stare. A security guard was giving them a hard look from where he stood across the food court. "When you're admitted for life-threatening injuries, you don't climb out the window the moment the doctors turn their backs!"

"But we checked out at the front-" Nathan tried again.

"NOT. MY. POINT." Laura snarled. Then she blinked in confusion as a black shirt was thrust in her face.

"Peace?" Nathan offered warily. Laura looked at the shirt, which was colored black and read "Heavily Armed - Easily Pissed" in white lettering. "I thought it kinda fit you…"

"…..you're just lucky I like your sense of humor." Nathan sighed in relief as Laura took the shirt, trying hard not to look pleased.

"So…no more yelling?" He asked.

"For now." Laura frowned. "Just don't do that again." She glanced over at her father, who was still going at it with Alfred over why sneaking your hospitalized son out of a doctor's care before his release is recommended was wrong. Laura glanced back at Nathan. "You may want to save your dad."

"Right…" Nathan didn't sound like he wanted to get in the middle of that fight. Still, he sidled closer until he was almost between Arthur and Alfred, and suddenly burst out with "SO! You'll never guess who we met today!" He laughed nervously, but gained a little confidence when both men stopped arguing, startled by his outburst. "Anyone here heard of Wyatt Ottoman?"

"…who?" Nathan leveled his father with a flat stare. "….Oh, right!" Alfred grinned. "I remember now! That ninja Canadian who gave us the tickets!" Laura stepped up beside Nathan.

"Wyatt Ottoman?" She repeated. "Well, this certainly is a day of coincidence. I've been trying to see him for years now." She caught the odd stares all three were giving her and explained. "Wyatt is like us. I've traced his activities back through several false names - he was born in 1917. He's 93 years old, and still looks nineteen." Nathan whistled.

"Dude's almost as old as you….n-no offense!" He added hastily as Laura glared at him. Alfred frowned.

"Wait….if he's like you two….then who're his parents?"

* * *

Benoit had never left the city of Rennes in his lifetime - let alone flown across the Atlantic. Still in shock from the speed of the adoption and suddenness of this trip, the little boy had hardly said a word all day, choosing instead to silently follow France. After a short drive to the airport, a nerve-wracking trip through security (Benoit had, apparently, never been around so many people at once), and a short wait at the gate, France and Benoit boarded a transatlantic flight to New York City, USA.

The flight left a few minutes ahead of schedule, and taxied out onto the runway ahead of two other planes. Benoit tugged nervously at his seatbelt as the plane slowed, lining up for take off. France gently patted his shoulder and gave him a winning smile.

"Ne vous inquiétez pas, mon fils! Ces vols sont très sûrs!" (Don't worry, my son! These flights are very safe!) He promised. Benoit looked at him with wide blue eyes.

"Vous me le promettez?" (Do you promise?) He asked nervously.

"Croix sur le coeur." (Cross my heart.) France promised, drawing one finger across the left side of his chest for added effect. "C'est l'un des moyens les plus sûrs de traverser l'océan." (It's one of the safest ways to cross the ocean.) This seemed to be enough for Benoit, as the young boy smiled and relaxed a little. The engines began to whine as they wound up, and the plane moved forward. Benoit's little hand suddenly wrapped around France's.

"Papa? Allez-vous me tenir la main?" (Papa? Will you hold my hand?) The little boy whimpered. "Je n'ai jamais fait ça avant ... J'ai peur." (I've never done this before…I'm scared.) France smiled gently and squeezed the little hand in his.

"Bien sûr, Benoit." (Of course, Benoit.) The little boy smiled gratefully. The plane sped up, racing down the runway, and at the moment the wheels left the ground, Benoit squeaked and tightened his grip, squeezing his eyes shut. France laughed softly and nudged his son's shoulder. "Benoit, regarder par la fenêtre." (Benoit, look out the window.) The little boy opened one eye curiously and looked. Then he opened both eyes wide.

"Wow! Tout semble si petite!" (Wow! It all looks so small!) He gasped, smiling in awe. France smiled triumphantly. A good distraction always won out against fear. Seven hours and fifty-five minutes later, the plane began its descent into New York. The pilot's announcement over the plane's radio distracted France from the channels of music and news he'd been surfing for the last hour, so he pulled out the complementary headphones and looked over to Benoit.

Immediately, he wanted to burst out with a nice long "d'awwww!" The little boy had fallen asleep against his father (which explained why his arm was numb) and curled up on his seat. His seatbelt was probably too loose, but he looked so adorable snuggled up against France's arm! The little boy somehow managed to sleep through the landing, and if his arm hadn't been tingling something fierce, France would have been loathe to wake him up.

"Benoit…." France gently shook the child awake. "Réveillez-vous. Nous sommes arrivés en Amérique." (Wake up. We have arrived in America.) Benoit yawned and rubbed his eyes sleepily.

"Déjà? Je pensais que nous venons de quitter?" (Already? I thought we just left?) He mumbled. France had to struggle not to squee for the cuteness. He helped the little boy out of his seat and grabbed both of their bags from the overhead compartment.

"Le vol s'est bien déroulé." (The flight went smoothly.) He held out his hand. "Tenez la main de papa, maintenant. Cet aéroport est très grand." (Hold Papa's hand, now. This airport is very big.) Benoit obediently latched onto France's hand and followed him off the plane and down the jetway, yawning every now and then.

* * *

Grr. Effin' grrr! Fanfiction tanked on my the first time, and ALL my review replies were erased! DX And I didn't save those! Ugh...anyway, I'm making up for that last short chapter with this super looong one. XD And finally! We see Russians! XD I relied heavily on Google Translate this round...so I apologize for any mistranslated sentences.

1) **Sile Authoress** - Either I'm too obvious, or you're too smart. XD And as good as England is with kids, Laura is NOT. Alphonse didn't know he had a half brother until a few years before the story setting, and he can barely keep a roof over his own head. Also, France is a freakin' nation - adoption is a cinch compared to an international treaty. XD AlphonseXLaura? Hmm...perhaps...no spoilers though. 8D And Yes.

2) **Nomad92**, **NightWolfMoon** and **Triangular Prism** - I do believe he has. XD And yay! You like Benoit! 8D When I first previewed him on DeviantArt, everyone loved him...but I'm my own worse critic. XD I never think I can write 'sweet'...

3) **Triangular Prism** (cont.) -

4) **SunflowerKolKolKol** - I sure hope you do! 8D

5) **Rain Karami** - In the next few chapters! XD Five will be mentioned, but only three have dialogue, and only one ends up staying with Prussia. Hmm...that would be a cool idea! I wonder which states would have kids? XD I think I'll add that to my profile poll.

6) **LuckyNumbers** - Sorry, Nathan is America's only child with a human. XD Though I wonder how Nathan would react to having 50+ half siblings (if you count American territories and protectorates)? XD

7) **cross-over-lover232** - Sorry, Poland doesn't have a kid. :(...but Lithuania does. XD And if you ignore the lack of cross-dressing and hair color, he could certainly pass for Poland's kid!


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21~XD Whoo...a lot going on here. XD

* * *

The DC Improv theater was packed that night.

Nathan, Alfred, Laura and Arthur arrived at the theater early, all piled into Alfred's (inconspicuous) Secret Service Sedan, with Laura driving, as Nathan's bike was still a wreck and Arthur forbid Alfred to drive. Once there, Nathan and Alfred retrieved four of the six tickets from the will call office, and proceeded inside.

Originally, Nathan had invited Svetlana to join them (and, by extension, her father Ivan, to Alfred's dismay). However, the young woman had turned him down, claiming that she had something prior planned with her father. Not used to being rejected by his (he considered) girlfriend, Nathan nonetheless respected her wishes, and donated the last two tickets to the wait list.

Inside the building, the four were escorted to their seats - right up front by the stage! There, they had plenty of leg room and a great view of the show. Nathan sank low in his seat, so that his head barely cleared the top of the cushion.

Despite his father's confidence, Nathan had been silently counting down the last few hours of his deadline. Somewhere in the middle of the show, his time would run out - and Alexi had eyes everywhere. The paranoid youth folded his arms across his chest in an attempt to hide his anxiety. He missed the concerned glance Alfred threw his way as the lights were turned down.

Wyatt came out in stage in his favorite Vancouver Canucks jersey and jeans, carrying a wireless microphone and a glass of water. The water he left on the stool already onstage as he greeted the audience.

"Hi, _hola, aloja, g'day, guten tag, buon pomeriggio, konnichi wa, privet_, and _salut_!" The comedían grinned. "That is, by the way, the only German, Japanese, Russian, Italian and Spanish I know." A ripple of laughter ran through the crowd. "Laughing already? Good. That makes my job easy." More laughter. Wyatt smirked.

"So…how many of you out there are French?" One or two people cheered. "British?" A few more people clapped; Laura whistled sharply. "Ooh, a proud Brit!" Wyatt snickered. "How about Canadian?" Someone whooped from the back of the theater. "One person?" Wyatt shook his head incredulously. "Only one! That's pathetic….okay, how many Americans?" The vast majority, almost the entirety of the crowd burst out cheering. "Damn. We're outnumbered!" He shouted to the Canadian at the back of the crowd, eliciting more laughter. Wyatt chuckled himself and leaned back on the stool.

"Alright, alright, humor aside, guys, thanks for coming out tonight." He smiled. "It really makes me feel good, even though my humor is based almost entirely on making fun of my target audience." The crowd laughed. "I cannot believe you laughed at that…"

The show seemed to pass too quickly, Nathan thought. He hadn't laughed so much in years, and it was awesome to look over and see Arthur (from whom Nathan had gotten quite the stuffy vibe) snickering quietly when he thought no-one was looking, and, more often than not, using Laura's unrestrained cackle to hide his own.

True to his word, Wyatt did make fun of his audience - most prominently, the people sitting in the front row. Arthur was mortified when the Canadian pointed out Laura's wild attire to the entire theater, but his daughter just giggled more, enamored by the attention. Then Alfred and Nathan were targeted because they weren't able to stop laughing at Arthur's reaction. The show ended with one of Wyatt's trademark stories - the 'tale of the Canadian ninja'.

"Alright, so I'm 6'3"," Wyatt began. "And, for all intents and purposes, conspicuous." The crowd giggled. "My last job - before this comedy crap took off - was at this ice rink. Now, I'm not naming names…coughMartincough…." More laughter. "But my 'nameless' boss was a serious stickler for punctuality. If you were one minute late, he stuck you on 'lifeguard' duty." Wyatt rolled his eyes. "Now, I love anything to do with ice skating and hockey, but trying to reign in 40+ little monsters," Here he cringed, drawing more laughter from the crowd. "Wearing blades on their feet, and wielding the power of the overprotective parent, is NOT my idea of a good day at work. So I always arrived thirty minutes early." He paused.

"My boss neeeeever saw me." The crowd laughed. "I could be standing right beside him, or running the registers with him, and he'll be yelling 'Where the hell's Wyatt?'" The man imitated his former employer's voice. "'Where's that lazy Canadian?' and everyone else would just giggle and ignore him or play along and pretend I wasn't there." He pouted. "It was real funny 'til he tried to fire me for ditching work." The crowd burst out laughing, and Wyatt had to wait until the laughter had died down enough or him to speak.

"I had to tape the freaking timecard to his office door before he would believe I was on time! And then he said I was cheating!" He made an incredulous face, appealing comically to the crowd. "How can he think I can fake a timecard? I can barely set the VCR clock!" Nathan giggled and Laura elbowed his ribs.

"Oh hush, you can't set it, either." Now Alfred snickered, so Nathan poked him. Alfred poked back, Nathan retaliated again, and a silent, front-row poke war was waged. Laura turned to her father, shoulders shaking in mirth. "This," She gestured to the father-son poke war. "Is almost as entertaining as the comedy."

* * *

In their taxi to the hotel, a sleepy Benoit curled up again, with his head on his father's lap. France kept one hand on the boy's back, making sure he stayed in the seatbelt without waking him. The cab driver chuckled softly as he glanced at the sight in the rearview mirror.

"Cute kid ya got." He remarked. "How old is he? Ten? I've got a daughter 'bout that age." He laughed. "Big age, that is. Where're you two from?"

"France." The older blonde smiled. "We are visiting some family friends in Washington D.C. this weekend, and playing tourist in New York at the same time." He smiled and patted Benoit's shoulder softly. "This is his first trip out of the country."

"Sure t'be a trip t'remember." The cab driver nodded. "He speak much English?"

"Non, but he can understand it fine." France replied. "He is not the type to wander off, anyway."

"Y'never know." The cab driver shrugged, making a right onto a smaller street. "Kids're real curious at this age. S'metimes the smallest things can distract 'em." He turned again and pulled up beneath the overhang of the Marriott front doors. "Here we are." He parked and shut off the meter. "$32.60." France paid the fare, then slid out of the cab. He unbuckled Benoit and lifted the little boy to balance him on his hip; the child leaned against his father's shoulder, still fast asleep. France removed their bags, thanked the driver, and walked inside to check in.

Once inside the room, France dropped their bags on the floor near the bathroom, and pulled back the covers on the bed with one hand, laying Benoit down gently and tucking him in. The man paused to brush a little silky hair from his son's face, smiling softly. The boy looked so much like Mattheiu had at this age…but for one difference.

This boy was his son. His blood relation. Not a territory he'd found wandering the frozen tundra they called home. Granted, that didn't mean he cared more for Benoit than he had for Canada, but he did feel different. It was a separate treat, knowing that this little child was his entirely.

France stood and walked across the room, pulling his phone from his pocket and dialing an old, familiar number. He waited for the ringing to end, but frowned in disappointment when he only received the man's voicemail. France waited for the recording to end, then left a message.

"_Bonjour, Angelterre_," He spoke softly. "I am just calling to say that I have arrived in America, with my son, Benoit." Even a blind man could have recognized the pride that crept into the blonde's voice with these last three words. "We are spending the night in a Marriott in New York City, and tomorrow, we shall spend a little time exploring. This is, after all, Benoit's first time out of the country." France chuckled quietly. "We shall see you on Saturday, non? _Au revoir_." He ended the call, then set his phone's alarm for the next morning, and turned the device off.

"…_S'il vous plaît ne me quitte pas_…" (…Please don't leave me….) The tiny, whispering voice made France turn around. Benoit was squirming beneath the bed sheets, and whimpering like a lonely puppy. "... _maman, reviens, s'il vous plaît _..." (…mommy, come back, please…) France set down his phone quietly, frowning. The boy must be having a nightmare…but about his mother? "_J'ai peur - Je ne veux pas être seul! Non_!" (…I'm scared - I don't want to be alone! No!) The little boy started to cry and wrapped his arms around Pierre, the stuffed bird he had been clutching ever since leaving the orphanage. France knelt beside the bed and placed a hand on his son's head.

"Benoit, _réveille-toi, ma chérie_." (Benoit, wake up, sweetie.) He whispered. "Il est juste un cauchemar." (It is just a nightmare.) Benoit whimpered, but jerked awake with wide eyes.

"P-Papa…?" He gasped. France gently shushed him and pulled the little boy into a hug.

"_Calmez-vous, mon fils ... c'était juste un rêve. Rien de tout cela était réel_." (Calm down, my son…it was just a dream. None of it was real…) He soothed. Benoit started to cry again.

"_Il était réel_." (It was real,) He cried. "_Il était environ maman. A propos quand elle a quitté_." (It was about mommy. About when she left.) He started to sob and buried his face in his toy's plush back. France quietly lifted the little boy into his lap and held him, patting his back gently to help calm him down. He began to sing, softly - something he hadn't done since Canada was young. But, this trick had always worked on little Mattheiu…

"_Doucement, lentement, doucement, lentement,_

_Vent de la mer de l'Ouest;_

_Faible, faible, respirer et souffler,_

_Vent de la mer de l'Ouest;_

_Au cours des eaux qui coulent aller_

_Venez de la lune de mourir, et souffler,_

_lui souffler à nouveau pour moi,_

_Alors mon petit, tout en_

_Ma belle dot_…" Benoit's crying gradually slowed as he listened to his papa sing. He buried his face into the older blonde's chest and just listened for several long minutes. When France reached the end of the verse and stopped, Benoit looked up shyly.

"_Papa? Puis ... pouvez-vous chanter à nouveau ...? J'aime ta voix .._." (Papa? Can….can you sing again…? I like your voice…) He asked quietly. France smiled gently and patted Benoit's hair.

"_Bien sûr, mon fils…_" (Of course, my son…) He hugged the little boy reassuringly. "_Pas plus cauchemar, maintenant. Vous n'êtes pas le seul plus.._." (No more nightmares, now….you're not alone anymore…)

* * *

"Вы умный человек, Iconovitch." (You are a smart man, Iconovitch.) Svetlana frowned. "Мне трудно поверить, что ты ... верю в такие дикие претензии на бессмертие." (I find it hard to believe that you...believe in such wild claims at immortality.) Alexi put on a look of mock hurt and placed a hand across his heart, fingers splayed.

"Почему так официально, дочка?" (Why so formal, daughter?) He asked. "Я бы думал, что вы знаете меня лучше, после всех этих лет."( I would have thought you would know me better now, after all these years.) Svetlana paused, not liking the way Alexi had stressed those last four words. The man smiled placatingly.

"Вы возраста очень изящно, не так ли?" (You age very gracefully, no?) He added. Svetlana straightened her spine and sat up straighter, trying to appear more composed than the wildly racing heart now trying to beat its way through her ribs.

"Он взял тебя так долго заметить, что ли?" (It took you this long to notice, then?) She remarked. Alexi chuckled.

"Много лет, я знаю. О вас и вашего друга." (Many years, I've known. About you and your other.) Alexi's smile suddenly seemed more sadistic than gentle. "Нет обычного человека могли бы выжить после столь многих разрушительных аварий." (No normal human being could live after so many devastating crashes.) Svetlana narrowed her eyes. "Но, Nathan не человек, это он?" (But, Nathan is not human, is he?) Alexi finished.

"Я полагаю, вы знаете, в противном случае." (I suppose you know otherwise.) Svetlana replied in a clipped tone. She stood from the armchair and straightened the hem of the blue tunic top she wore beneath her fur jacket. "Прости меня, Alexi, Но я должен вернуться к Nathan. Мне нужно, чтобы проверить его из больницы." (Forgive me, Alexi, but I must get back to Nathan. I need to check him out of the hospital.) She lied. Alexi nodded, not moving from his own chair.

"Конечно. Пожалуйста, быть на вашем пути." (Of course. Please, be on your way.) He watched Svetlana stride out of the room at a casual pace, though much tenser than she had been upon arriving. Not an unusual change for one leaving Alexi's home office (alive). For normal people. "Быть безопасными, дочь." (Be safe, daughter.) Svetlana flinched at this name as the doors closed.

The young woman left the home in a hurry, exiting out the back door to avoid the off-duty mafia members still playing poker in the front hall. Once outside, Svetlana rushed down the street until she could safely turn a corner and not be seen. Hidden from the eyes of the Bratva, at least, for the moment, Svetlana opened her fur jacket and plucked the small black microphone from her shirt front.

"I am out." She spoke into the little device. "Отец, it is worse than you thought. Iconovitch knows. About me, and about Nathan."

* * *

And so, the plot thickens...XD Something funny, something fluffy, and something serious.

1) **Sile Authoress **- Thanks. XD Sorry there's no Alphonse in this chapter, but this chapter needed Russians! You'll get sexy Frenchmen next chapter. XD

2) **cross-over-lover232** - I'd imagine so, yes. XD

3) **Rain Karami** - Liet's only got one. XD And Prussia's will arrive soon! Hmm….like a kid for Aus/Hun? Ohh….now you've put ideas in my head. XD

4) **Aviantei** - I actually DO have the idea that NY has kids. XD Two. Twins. Like Mattie and Al, only not. XD They'd represent cities, instead of states or territories. And there actually IS a story behind Nathan's middle name. XD Originally, I'd wanted that to feature more prominently, and so I designed Nathan's mother as a romantic type, and a fan of knights and such. But, while that idea faded, the name 'Lancelot' stuck….so I just left it. XD

5) Everyone else - Thank you SO MUCH for all the support! 8D It really means a lot to me!

**Lullaby translation:**

Sweet and low, sweet and low

Wind of the western sea;

Low, low, breathe and blow,

Wind of the western sea;

Over the rolling waters go

Come from the dying moon, and blow,

Blow him again to me,

While my little one, while

My pretty one sleeps.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22~^_^ Shorter than the last one, but a chapter nonetheless.

* * *

Laura turned out to have quite the silver tongue.

All it took was a little sweet talking and a few false promises (that would have killed her father from mortification, had he heard) to get the four back behind the curtains to see Wyatt. When he saw them coming, the Canadian recognized Nathan and Alfred, and met them with a grin.

"Hey! How'd you like the show?" He asked. Nathan opened his mouth to speak.

"It as hilarious, dude!" Alfred burst out. Nathan made a face behind his father's back. Wyatt laughed at this, but Alfred didn't seem to notice.

"Glad to hear you enjoyed it." He grinned. His gaze fell to Laura. "Hey, sorry about using you for the improv portion. It was all for fun." He apologized.

"Oh, ducky, don't worry." Laura smiled, waving one green-nailed hand. "I know how to laugh at myself. Unlike some people." She glanced pointedly at her father. Arthur huffed and looked away pointedly. Laura smiled and turned back to Wyatt. "We've actually traded correspondents before. White_Kuma2?" Laura smiled as Wyatt's eyes lit up in recognition of the familiar online name. "I'm Pirate_Child48."

"….you're the one who's like me?" Wyatt blinked. Laura nodded.

"Aye. We all are." She gestured around the four of them. "I was born in 1703. Nathan here," Laura patted the American on the head. "Was born in 1951. These two," She gestured to Arthur and Alfred. "Are our parents." Wyatt frowned. "There are a lot more people like us…and like them." Laura explained. "We think we may know who your father is."

"…wait, we do?" Alfred blinked. Then his eyes widened. "OH MY GOD I know who his dad is!" He spontaneously giggled. "That means I'm an uncle!" Nathan took a step back from his suddenly excited father.

"….does that mean we're cousins?" He whispered to Wyatt. The Canadian shrugged. Alfred suddenly stopped again.

"….waitaminute…..this means he SLEPT WITH SOMEONE!" Alfred's mood preformed a full 180 and he grabbed for his cell phone, dialing a number and waiting impatiently for someone to pick up. Laura looked at Arthur with a flat stare.

"Did he smack his head when he was young?" She asked rhetorically. Arthur coughed and looked away.

"N-no, not that I know of…" He replied. Whoever Alfred was calling finally picked up the phone.

"MATTHEW WILLIAMS HOW COULD YOU!"

* * *

_Loud music, dim, pulsating lights, and the smell of alcohol were no strangers to this back-alley brothel. Alphonse Berriet leaned against the cool brick of the back room and sighed quietly. If not for these five minute breaks, he was sure he'd have tried to kill himself by now. He hated this job. With. A. Passion. If he didn't need the extra cash to keep himself fed and under a two-bit roof, he'd quit, and run far, far away._

_Alphonse had grown up no stranger to love. Unlike most of his unfortunate fellows at this mercy-forsaken place, the only parent in his life, his mother, had loved him as much as any mother could. She had been her intellectual son's only real friend, until he'd met Laura Archer. But after her death, and Alphonse's archeological career had hit a snag, everything had gone downhill._

_He knew love. He wanted it. He craved it. He wanted to feel needed; to know that at least one person in the world enjoyed his presence for more than just what they could pay per night. Alphonse wanted the hands that held him to be gentle, for a change. He wanted to receive pleasure, instead of being forced to give it. He wanted the touches to be soft, and not leave bruises that were so hard to hide from society._

_Alphonse slid down against the brick wall, and drew his slim legs up to his chest. He had to find a way out of this hell. After spending roughly eighty of his three hundred year life selling himself just to keep a home, he could feel himself breaking. He was starting to flinch whenever people touched him, and crowded spaces were becoming the triggers for embarrassing and revealing panic attacks. If anything like that happened at a conference, or around any of his educated collegues, Alphonse's reputation would be utterly ruined, and he would be trapped in this pornographic hell forever._

_The man lifted his head to glance at the clock and cringed - his break was over. He slowly stood up and wiped his face, a little surprised to discover the tears on his cheeks. He hurriedly wiped them away, then walked back out on the floor. The pounding music assaulted his ears, and he was surrounded by people again. As he wandered the carpeted floor, waiting for someone to 'choose' him, he passed cushioned booths and chairs, meant to entice clients into staying longer._

_A sharp whistle sliced the air, and Alphonse glanced around in the dim, flashing lights. A frighteningly broad shouldered man beckoned the blonde from across the room, and Alphonse had no choice but to saunter over. When he reached the other, the man shifted in his booth seat, spreading his legs invitingly. Alphonse slid onto the man's lap, facing him, and straddling his knee. _

_"What would you like, sir…?" He asked, his quiet voice almost hidden beneath the music. The man didn't answer, and instead grabbed Alphonse's chin and tilted it up, exposing his neck. The blonde trembled as calloused fingers trailed down his throat, following his jugular vein, and then down his bare chest. The hand was joined by a second, and Alphonse swore his heart stopped, just for a moment, as both hands tightened around his slim waist in a frightening grip._

_"I'll take you."_

_

* * *

_

Alphonse jerked awake, and smacked his head on the slanting ceiling that came with the last row of seats on any airplane. He cursed quietly in muted French, drawing a bored look from the woman across the aisle as she pulled her bag down from the overhead compartment.

The frenchman sighed under his breath and unbuckled, sliding out of his seat and grabbing his own bag from above. He hurried down the aisle, catching up to the line of people deplaning. As he neared the door, the flight attendants gave him sympathetic smiles. Alphonse flinched as he stepped onto the jetway and hurried away.

Richmond International was very crowded that day. Alphonse felt his heart claw its way up to his throat as he pushed timidly through the crowds, all but racing to find the shuttle station for his hotel. When he finally found the right stop, it was, thank God, empty. The slim man settled on the bench, holding his lone bag close, and dug around in a side pocket for his phone. When he found it, Alphonse slid it open and quickly dialed the number of his closest (and only) friend.

He waited almost desperately for someone to pick up after one ring. Two. Three. Four. Finally, there was a click, and a familiar voice responded. Alphonse sighed rather heavily in relief. "Laura."

"_Alphonse!_" Laura Arther replied cheerily. "_Have you landed? How was your flight?_"

"I-It went smoothly." Alphonse replied, his voice betraying some of the anxiety he was bottling up. "Um…l-listen, Laura….d-do you have a minute? I…..I need to talk with someone."

"_Of course._" Laura replied, immediately sympathetic. "_I'm all ears, love. Tell me what's wrong._" Alphonse sighed heavily, and curled up around his bag on the bench, before he started telling his best friend about his nightmare.

* * *

Matthew had spent a long night doing paperwork his boss had dropped upon him last minute. He'd gotten to sleep at a very late hour, and was very happily snuggled under his warm, thick covers, with Kumajirou sprawled across the rest of the bed, when his phone rang.

The Canadian groaned and tried to ignore it, but Kumajirou growled and kicked at him. Matthew yelped and pulled his leg out of the polar bear's reach. "Fine, fine…" He groaned and sat up, groping for the phone sitting beside his bed. He clicked the right button and held the phone up to his ear. "Hello…?" He yawned.

"_MATTHEW WILLIAMS HOW COULD YOU?_" The young blonde yelped and nearly dropped the phone, his ears ringing. Kumajirou growled and rolled over.

"Alfred? What are talki-" His twin interrupted him before Matthew could get his thoughts together.

"_HOW COULD YOU SLEEP WITH SOME RANDOM WOMAN?_" The American shouted.

"What?" Matthew blinked in shock. "Al, I-I-"

"_SHE COULD'VE HAD A DISEASE, OR BEEN A SERIAL KILLER_!" Alfred ranted on. "_I CAN'T BELIEVE MY OWN BROTHER WOULD_-"

"ALFRED!" Matthew all but shouted. The American was stunned into silence, and even Kumajirou lifted his head in surprise. "…Al', I…I did, uh, sleep with someone…once…eh." He admitted quietly. "…but that was over ninety years ago. I'd met this tourist in Ottowa, in a bar. She said it was her last night in Canada, and we were both drunk, so we ended up coming back to my house, eh."

"_Well, geez, did you kick her out or something?_" Alfred asked, confused. "_Mattie, I never knew you could be so_-"

"No!" Matthew cut in. "No, Al'! I did nothing like that!" His voice quieted even more, if that were possible. "…that was the night before the Halifax explosion…" On the other end of the line, Alfred quieted, as well.

"I went to find out what was happening…once I could breathe again….the woman was gone by the time I got back." He sighed. "She probably couldn't remember who she'd stayed with, and just left…" He groaned.

"_Ouch…_." Alfred muttered. Matthew cringed.

"How did you find out about that, anyway, eh?" The Canadian asked.

"_Oh yeah!_" Alfred giggled, as if hiding a juicy secret. "_Mattie, I'm an uncle! And YOU'RE a DAD_!"

"…." Kumajirou growled as the phone slipped from Matthew's limp fingers and smacked him between the ears.

"Rude."

* * *

Let there be Canadians! XD I checked my profile poll, and got quite a shock. Most voters want Germany to have a kid. O_o Hmm...mayhaps I can work that...

1) **SunflowerKolKolKol** - OMG, you did all that just to read my fix? 8D I feel so happy!

2)** Mosseyed wolf **- Canadians now, Prussians later. XD OMG, Gilbird with chicks? XD Plus Prussia's 5 kids? Oh, poor Gilbert!

3) **Aviantei** - Angst with Benoit, now angst with Alphonse. XD France's kids have issues….and don't worry! The floodgates have opened - Let there be Canadians!

4) **Sile Aurhoress** - Pierre. 8D No, that's not shamelessly stolen from the anime…._ But yes, most likely. ^_^ I'm trying to weave things into something a tad more complicated with the Bratva, so Alexi's not the main-main villain per say…but he's close. XD

5) **cross-over-lover232** - Hmm….either throw a parental hissy fit or give advice. XD Considering Alphonse's view toward his profession, I'd lean toward option #1. And yes. Yes they are. ^_^


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23~^_^ Enjoy!

* * *

Arthur watched Laura step away from the group, suddenly serious with whoever had called her moments before. Curious, and in need of an excuse to escape Alfred's growing argument with his twin brother, the Englishman sidled closer to his daughter, and listened in.

"…-alm down, love, you're alright now." Laura was saying. "Listen, I'm heading back down from D.C. tonight. How about I come and find you when I get back, and we'll sit down and talk over a cup of Earl Grey?" She paused as whoever she was speaking to responded, and smiled gently. "Yes, of course. Oh, don't worry, I'll leave Barnacle with Nathan - the American I've told you about, remember? - he absolutely loves that cat." Laura paused to listen again.

"I know, I know…." She soothed. Arthur frowned. Though he couldn't hear specific words, whoever his daughter was talking to sounded quite upset. "You're far away from that, now, ducky. Just hang on until I get back, alright? Alright…_au revoir_." Arthur raised one heavy brow. French? Hadn't Laura mentioned earlier that the frog had two spawns? Was she talking to the other one? And why did she sound so worried?

His daughter hung up and turned around, coming face to face with her father. She immediately adopted a look of fury. "Were you listening!" She growled.

"NO!" Arthur shot back a little too fast. "I was just standing here!" He huffed. "I'm not at fault if you're talking so loudly." He added. Laura clenched her fists, and for a moment, it seemed like the argument was about to get physical. Then, the outlandishly dressed woman took a slow, deep breath, and relaxed.

"I don't have time for this…" She muttered irritably. "Nathan!" She called. The American looked up from his chat with his new Canadian cousin. "Watch the time, lad. I need to head back to Richmond in a few hours." Nathan blinked.

"…oh, right! You're still speaking at that conference tomorrow." He remembered. "Isn't that French guy gonna be there to?"

"Going to. And yes." Laura corrected out of habit. "Alphonse will be coming back with me for this big meeting that we _all_ need to attend." She gave Nathan a stern look. "So make sure Svetlana is there." Nathan looked confused.

"What, am I her keeper now? I think you've forgotten who wears the pants in our relationship." Wyatt snickered.

"And you admit that?" He giggled. "I think I might put that in my routine, eh…" Laura growled.

"Nathan…" She began.

"Okay, okay! I'll make sure she's there!" The American submitted. "Don't use 'the voice' on me….it's creepy…." Laura rolled her eyes.

"Whatever." She sighed. "Just don't get 'distracted', and be there on time." She ordered. Her gaze flickered to Wyatt. "You too. I'll send you the details in an e-mail." Both young men mock-saluted.

"Aye, captain." They chorused. Laura growled.

"Please. That joke's older than both of you." She frowned.

"No it-"

"Don't." Laura interrupted. Nathan shut his mouth. The british woman nodded toward Alfred. "Nathan, get your father. It's time for us to go."

* * *

Exploring New York City was something France had never planned on doing before.

Of course, once he'd decided that it would make for a fun day and told Benoit about the plan, the little boy's excitement made it impossible for him to back out.

Since it was December, the trip started with a quick taxi to the shopping district, a fun thing, both for the father who wanted to spoil his son, and the child who'd never known such warm and wonderful clothes existed. After that, they walked through Times Square. Benoit was awed by the massive screens on the buildings that towered over the streets, though he clung to France throughout, as he was afraid of losing him in the masses of people.

"_Papa, ce qui si je me perds?_" (Papa, what if I get lost?) He had asked as they stood at the edge of a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change and make the street safe to cross. France smiled.

"_Ici, il suffit de tenir la main de papa, et vous ne serez pas perdu._" (Here, just hold Papa's hand, and you won't be lost.) He'd suggested. Benoit had happily complied, and then raced across the street when the light changed, all but dragging his father. "_Ralentissez, petit chaton!_" (Slow down, little kitten!) France laughed. "_Je viens, ne vous inquiétez pas_!" (I'm coming, don't worry!)

Their trip led them first to the central park zoo, and then ice skating outdoors, where Benoit had more fun hanging onto France's leg than actual skating. After this, father and son went on a carriage ride tour. At first, though, Benoit was afraid of the two draft horses used to pull the carriage.

Then the carriage driver offered to let the little boy pet one of the horses, so France guided Benoit around to the front of the horses and lifted him up into his arms. Timidly, the little boy reached out a hand toward one of the horses - a big black and white one, named Taboo, with a braided mane. The horse flicked an ear as Benoit carefully stroked his nose.

"_Papa! Son nez est si douce!_" (Papa! His nose is so soft!) The little boy gasped, eyes sparkling happily. Taboo snorted, and Benoit yanked his hand back with a peal of laughter. "_Cela chatouille!_" (That tickles!) He giggled.

"_Voir?_" (See?) France smiled and traded a wink with the carriage driver. "_Ils ne sont pas effrayant_. They are not scary." He lifted Benoit into the carriage and climbed up beside him. "_Maintenant, qu'est-ce que nous disons?_" (Now, what do we say?)

"_Merci_!" Benoit chimed to the carriage driver. The man tipped his had with a smile before urging the horses on.

* * *

Living so close to his brother was hardly ever a benefit.

Tonight, it was. Matthew arrived at his brother's house late that night, and, having called from the road, found the porch light on and the front door open. Alfred was leaning against the doorframe, grinning as his twin parked and climbed out of his car. He jogged down the walkway and grabbed his brother's bag from the trunk as Matthew picked up Kumajirou from the passenger seat.

"Hey Mattie! Have a nice drive?" Alfred grinned. His brother smiled softly.

"It was smooth enough, eh. I didn't hit too much traffic." He replied.

"Good!" Alfred tossed an arm around his twin's shoulders and led him inside. "Okay, so your kid had to go back to his hotel an get some sleep, 'cause he's got another show tomorrow," He explained.

"Eh? Show?" Matthew blinked.

"But don't worry, you can meet him tomorrow!" Alfred continued, as if he'd never been interrupted. "But you get to meet my kid tonight! I insisted on him coming to live with me, since he's a target of the Russian Mafia."

"What?" Matthew's eyes widened. "Russian Mafia? Alfred, what-"

"Oh, relax!" Alfred interrupted again. "I'm taking care of it!" He pushed Matthew through the front door, followed him in and closed it. "Make yourself at home! I'll drop your stuff in the second guest room! Nathan should be around here somewhere." Matthew blinked.

"Eh…Nath-?"

"NATHAN!" Alfred shouted, interrupting his brother once again. "Uncle Mattie is here!" Matthew glanced down at Kumajirou as his brother ran off into the house.

"…Uncle Mattie?" He repeated. Kumajirou snorted.

"Who?" The bear questioned.

"Ca-na-da!" Matthew groaned. "I feed you. Why can't you remember me, eh?"

"Ah, maybe he's just got a bad memory?" A voice replied. Matthew turned around, and nearly dropped Kumajirou. Well, he could certainly see this young man as his brother's son. They almost looked like twins…in fact, he was almost a little jealous. The young man pushed his glasses up his nose and grinned. "I'm guessing you're dad's brother? Hi! I'm Nathan! I'm pretty sure I'm your nephew!" Matthew smiled.

"It's nice to meet you, eh. I'm Matthew, and this is Kumajirou." He gestured to the polar bear in his arms. Kumajirou stopped chewing on his paw long enough to look up and blink.

"Illegitimate." He mumbled. Nathan's eyes widened.

"Kumaku!" Matthew scolded. "You can't say things like that!" He glanced at Nathan, hoping the young man hadn't been offended.

"….oh my god, IT TALKS!"

* * *

Another short chapter, but this one has Canadians! ...kinda. XD It would have been longer, but my brain jumped ahead of me and poured most of the creativity into a segment for Alphonse that comes in later...

1) **Triangular Prism** - I thought so, too! XD But you know any kid of Germany's, Italy will automatically take over. XD

2) **LuckyNumbers **- They will if they're not hers. XD

3) **Aviantei** - Sorry, no Russians this chapter. Chapter 24, for sure! Have some Canadians and cute Frenchies instead!

4) **cross-over-lover232** - …..I just may have to reuse that. 8D

5) **natcat5 **- Russel Peters…..sound familiar. XD I've probably heard him and never caught the name. Romano with kids….oh god. Ideas in my head! XD

6) **The-Goldstein-Sharpshooter** - Oh don't worry, that'll come. XD All three.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24! XD Wow, the things you can write on your breaks...

* * *

Svetlana had never been a paranoid woman, despite her involvement with the illegal organized crime family of the Bratva.

However, as she walked toward Garfield Park, she couldn't help but look over her shoulder every now and then, almost certain she could se some henchmen or part-time minion of Alexi following her. Now she knew how Nathan had felt when the deadline passed….and she'd teased him for being jumpy. How rude of her.

The young woman passed through the gates of the park, and began to look for the one that had called her. He wasn't hard to find - only one person of his height was sitting on the bench along the path, dressed in a tan winter jacket, despite the day's rather balmy temperature for winter. Svetlana walked up and silently sat down next to him. Ivan turned to smile at her.

"You have tape, da?" He asked.

"Da." Svetlana pulled the small tape recorder out of her jacket pocket, disconnected it from the microphone's cord, and handed both to her father. "I am certain Alexi was unaware."

"Good." Ivan smiled as he tucked the device into his coat. "It would defeat purpose if you had been caught." Svetlana frowned, a little offended by the (probably) unintentional jab at her abilities.

"…what I told you is true." She spoke up after a minute of silence. Ivan's smile slipped a notch. "He knows Nathan and I are not human." She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back on the bench. "He had a book, written by some Seiberian man a hundred years ago, and it mentioned an English pirate who never seemed to age…" She looked at her father. "Could that be Laura's father, Arhtur…what was it…Kirkland?" Ivan tilted his head as though thinking.

"Most likely. He was very wild man in 1700s. But back then, no-one kept track of us, and could not do so easily in first place, so we did not worry." Ivan explained with a shrug.

"Well, now we have to." Svetlana sighed. "The rest of us are in as much danger from exposure as you all." She fell silent for a moment. "…_Отец_," (Father,) She spoke up. "May I ask why you were chosen?" Ivan looked at her.

"Hmm?" He asked.

"Why you?" Svetlana repeated. "As far as I've learned, you only personify country of Russia. You do not lead, you do not make final decision. Why were you selected to hunt down Alexi Iconovitch?" She asked.

"…because of you." Ivan settled on an answer after several minutes. "Members of my government had discovered that you were born over fifty years ago. They thought you might be like me, and so, they called me." Svetlana shifted her arms.

"So you always knew I was your daughter?" She tried to clarify.

"Nyet." Ivan shook his head. "You could have been personification of state, territory, criminal underground or new nation. I did not know until I met you." Svetlana frowned.

"Nathan's father had to run a DNA test to be sure. How can you be?" She asked. Ivan smiled, a little softer than before.

"You look so much like your mother. There was no doubt."

* * *

"Now remember, he's a friend of mine."

"I gathered that."

"I want you to be nice."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because you apparently don't' like his father." Laura fixed Arthur with a steely glare as she drove down ?, to Richmond. "Now, I don't particularly care to know what went on between you two, since I can gather enough from the history of your two countries." Arthur snorted. "But I do NOT," Laura emphasized. "Want you taking out that pent-up sexual tension on him." Arthur sputtered.

"Sexual tension? How dare-"

"Oh, shut up," Laura interrupted. "And listen closely, because I will not repeat this, and I will NOT tolerate anything less." Arthur quieted, merely because his daughter looked quite like him from his pirate days. Had he really looked that scary? And shouldn't she be watching the road?

"Alphonse Berriet is a very close friend," Laura growled. "Who has had a very hard life. If you make a single comment about his father's 'sexual habits'," She spat. "In front of him, I will personally flay you with a curtain rod, set you on fire, douse you with salt water, throw you in the hotel pool, then tie you to the roof of this car - shirtless - and drive you home agonizingly slow."

Arthur felt himself sinking into his seat beneath his daughter's steely glare. Good God, this woman was devious! Jesus, he couldn't tell if he were terrified or proud! After a moment, he remembered to nod, and Laura returned her scathing gaze to the road ahead.

"Good man." She smirked. "….Arthur, Alphonse is a sweet man." Her voice softened. "He's just in a bad way. Seriously. Be nice to him. He deserves a little kindness." Arthur frowned softly.

"I wouldn't dream of it." He promised. "Really. He sounds like a wonderful person." Laura smirked gently, and for the next ten minutes, they drove in silence. Then Arthur spoke up again. "So….you two are close friends?" Laura merely nodded in response. "How did you two meet?"

"…eh…" She avoided her father's green eyes embarrassedly. "1849…I was working on a…mmm….'trading' vessel…" Laura muttered. "Alphonse was dragged aboard by a client, after he'd witnessed a….well, a murder related to our 'trade'." He huffed. "'Frail little stick thing he was. I got assigned to keep an eye on him when the captain threw him in the brig. We started talking, we hit it off….and the next time we hit port, I broke him out and we escaped together. Quite the thrill, it was." Arthur smirked.

"So you met him while working on a smuggler's ship," He translated. Laura growled. "And saved him from the bad, nasty men." The Englishman snickered. "What a backwards way to meet."

"If you hadn't noticed, the girls among us are the ones who wear the pants." Laura shot back. "Just look at Svetlana and Nathan. And besides, Alphonse and I aren't-" She stopped herself, and seemed to rephrase her thoughts. "…we're not together…we're just close friends." Arthur frowned.

"You sound like you want to be more." He mused. Laura cursed.

"Does that matter?" She growled, before a sigh pushed its way past her lips. "But…..father-to-daughter, I do…" She admitted. "I want to be able to be there for him…but God knows, he's not read for that yet…." She sighed quietly. Arthur frowned, this time in concern.

"He's been hurt, then?" He guessed, knowing his daughter would know what he meant. Laura nodded quietly.

"…..Alphonse is a smart man, with a deep love for his work, but…that doesn't always pay the bills." Laura mumbled. "He's been forced to work an…immoral occupation for decades….and it's really wounded him." She shifted her grip on the steering wheel and clicked on the directional to change lanes.

"Don't say anything in front of him." She ordered, voice suddenly cold as steel. "Or I swear to God, I will make good on all of my prior threats!"

* * *

Benoit really didn't want to wake up. He was perfectly comfortable, curled up on his Papa's lap, where it was warm, and he knew that, when he woke up, the man would still be there. But the hiss of the bus's hydraulic doors was just too loud, and the little boy opened one eye irritably.

"_Tu es réveillé?_" (Are you awake?) His father's voice asked. Benoit yawned.

"_Oui, Papa…_" (Yes, Papa…) He sat up and rubbed at his eyes with one hand, holding on to his plush duck Pierre with the other. "_Sommes-nous encore là ...?_" (Are we there yet…?) He asked, still a little disoriented from sleep. France chuckled softly and lifted his little son into his lap.

"_Nous sommes,_" (We are,) He smiled. "_Les autres attendent à l'extérieur_. _Venez._" (The others are waiting outside. Come.) He took Benoit's hand, grabbed their bags, and led the little boy off of the bus. To his chagrin, they were greeted by Russia.

"_Здравствуйте,_ France!" (Hello, France!) Ivan waved cheerfully. "You had good trip, da?" His purple eyes skated down, and met a pair of wide eyed blues. "Is this your son?" Ivan crouched down in front of Benoit, who whined and tried to hide behind his father. "He looks like mini-you!" Ivan reached out and patted Benoit's hair - the little boy flinched with each pat.

"Eheheh…" France laughed nervously, then bent down and scooped up his son in one arm. "Er, Russia…" The taller man straightened up. Benoit whined and leaned back against his father. "You have a daughter, as well, if _Angelterre _did not lie, _non_?"

"Da." The Russian smiled, then called something in Russian across the bus stop. A young woman with the same purple eyes as her father walked over to join them. "France, Mini-France, this is my daughter, Svetlana." The woman smiled and nodded politely.

"._.. Mon nom est Benoit ..._" (…my name is Benoit…) The little boy muttered softly. Svetlana's smile widened.

"Ah! You look just like your father! _Vous êtes tellement mignon_!" (You are so cute!) She cooed. Benoit and France both blinked in surprise.

"_Vous parlez français_?" (You speak French?) He asked. Svetlana nodded.

"_Seulement un peu, mais suffisant._" (Only a little, but enough.) She laughed and ruffled Benoit's hair. "Oh, he's such a little sweetie! I want to take him home, Отец!" Ivan's eyes flashed with a familiar gleam that had always made France shiver.

"_Ah, non, désolé. Il est à moi_." (Ah, no, sorry. He's mine.) France smiled, shooting a protective glare at Ivan that was clearly not a joke. The Russian simply continued to grin.

"_Черт_." (Damn,) Svetlana joked, laughing. "Come! We are all meeting at the Kellogg Conference Center. Отец, I'm driving this time!" France let out a tiny sigh of relief as the Russian followed his daughter out of the bus station, and tailed alone behind them with Benoit.

"But I thought you liked my driving?"

"As a thrill ride, yes."

* * *

As requested, Russians, French family fluff and English family bonding time (kinda)! XD

1) **Aviantei** - Actually, yes. XD Prussia did turn out a pair of twins.

2) **APH-Indonesia** - Thanks! XD I had watched a lot of "Family Guy" that night…

3) **The-Goldstein-Sharpshooter** - Matthew is just being a Canadian Ninja. Don't worry, he plays a BIG part in later chapters. ^_^ Also, Germany officially has a kid. XD He'll be introduced around the same time as Prussia's brood.

4) **SunflowerKolKolKol** - Hooray for hugs! 8D

5) **Triangular Prism** - …..now I wanna give Romano a kid. And make him a heartbreaker, just for kicks. XD

6) **Mosseyed wolf** - ….well…..Svetlana DOES love kids…..perhaps it later chapters? :) I kid. XD Alfred will find out he's a granddad WAY before that. XD


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25! ^_^ Whoa...another two-in-one day, eh? XD

* * *

Nathan never, EVER wanted to go to a hockey game with his new cousin and uncle.

At least, not without his father's protection. Even though the game was on TV, every missed call, every fight, every single play seemed to draw fury from some unseen emotional aquifer in the Canadians. It was weird enough to see Wyatt become infuriated with something he clearly knew couldn't be changed.

But seeing Matthew screaming at the screen, cursing, snarling, was just too surreal. Nathan felt a sizable portion of his pride say 'eek' and curl into a ball as he cowered behind the couch, attempting to dodge the Canadian fury.

They had only been waiting at the Kellogg Conference Center for two hours. The meeting wouldn't start until everyone had arrived - including Laura, Arthur and Alphonse after their conference - so Alfred had pulled them all into a smaller room, pulled a TV out of a cabinet, and decided for all of them that they would watch TV.

They'd flipped through hundreds of channels before finding the hockey game. Alfred had tried to flip past it quickly, but Matthew had somehow managed to wrestle his twin to the floor and steal the remote to keep the channel on the game. Nathan knew he should have probably helped his dad, but Uncle Mattie was freaking scary when hockey was involved! It hadn't helped that Wyatt had made it very clear who he supported in the bout.

Weird. Nathan hadn't thought they'd hit it off all that well when they'd first met. He and Alfred had left Matthew and Wyatt alone in the living room for a few minutes while they made dinner (hamburgers! Nathan's favorite!), and when they'd first left, the Canadian father and son had been awkwardly trying to start conversation. When the American's had returned, Wyatt and Matthew were laughing, smiling and acting as though they'd been best friends for life.

Honestly, Nathan thought it was a little creepy.

He heard the doors open as Alfred came back in. He'd left five minutes earlier to answer a call from one of his international buddies. Nathan breathed a sigh of relief and leapt up from behind the couch. "Dad!"

"Hey Nathan!" Alfred grinned. "Listen, I've gotta go to the airport and pick up-oof!" Alfred nearly had the wind knocked out of him by Nathan's flying, somewhat desperate hug.

"Take me with you!" The young man pleaded. "Don't leave me alone with those two!"

* * *

He was lost.

The little boy had wandered off for just a moment, entranced by one of the stained glass windows of the conference center. When he'd turned around, the man he'd found to be his father, and the man he'd been talking with, had disappeared. He'd tried to follow them, but he wasn't able to navigate the imposing hallways.

The little boy hugged his plush bird closer, burying his face in the feather-patterned fabric. This wasn't fun. He didn't speak English like the other children here, and he couldn't read any of the English signs on the walls. He whimpered softly, starting to run now. "P-papa?" He called out shyly. He got no response. "P-papa?" The little boy came to an intersection and stopped. He turned in a circle, trying to figure out which way to go. The hallways were all marked, but in English, which he couldn't read. He started to whine. "Papa?"

"Hallo?" A large shadow fell over the boy, who immediately froze up. He turned around slowly, and found himself facing a pair of large boots. He looked up….and up….and up until he found a pair of amethyst eyes, set above a childish smile. "Ah, Mini-France!" The child's eyes widened. "Benoit, da?" Russia knelt down and pet the little boy on the head. Benoit flinched every time, sinking lower and lower behind his plush bird. "I wonder if you will grow up with your father's sexual habits?" Russia paused as Benoit made an odd sound. Moments later, the little boy began to cry.

"Waaahhh…._je veux mon papa…_" (I want my papa…)

"Hn? Mini-France is sad?" Russia lifted Benoit by his armpits and stood up, head tilted curiously. "Why do you cry? You are not injured." Benoit only cried harder, burying his face in his plush toy. Soon enough, his sobbing dissolved into one discernible word, which he repeated over and over, growing more and more desperate.

"Papa…papa….papaaaa…."

"Mr. Russia!" The towering nation blinked and looked to his left. "Kindly put my son down! _Maintenant_!" (Now!) Russia shrugged and lowered the sobbing 10 year old back to the floor.

"Okay. Your son is a crybaby, anyway." Benoit hiccuped and scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand.

"P-Papa…" He held his arms up pleadingly. France quickly swept him up, whispering soothingly in French and stroking his hair. Benoit hugged his plush bird and buried his face in his father's hair, eyes squeezed shut. China, who had been standing behind France, and helping him look for the little boy after he'd disappeared, cleared his throat.

"Russia….maybe you and I should leave, aru."

"Da." The Russian simply turned and walked away. China continued on to the meeting room - their original destination - and left France with Benoit. The Frenchman patted his youngest son's back as he began to calm down.

"_Ne vous promenez pas de pareil ça. Vous m'avez papa…_" (Don't wanter off like that. You scared papa…) France admonished softly. Benoit sniffed.

"_Desole, papa_…" (I'm sorry, papa…) France's eyes lit up, and he cuddled the little boy with a dreamy smile.

"_Ahh, Aucun mal fait du, bebe._" (No harm done, baby.) France started walking toward the meeting room, cradling Benoit on one hip. "_Allons rencontrent les autres, bien_?" (Let's go meet the others, okay?)

"_B-bien…_" (O-okay…)

* * *

The knock on the door startled him.

Alphonse Berriet jumped at the sound, then remembered where was, and closed his self-help book to answer the door. First, he checked through the peephole, but once he recognized the face on the other side, he began to smile and opened the door.

"Laura," He smiled. The woman stepped forward and hugged the slightly taller man. Arthur couldn't help but notice how the other stiffened ever so slightly before relaxing and returning the gesture.

"It's good to see you, too, Al'." Laura smiled, pulling back. "May we come in?"

"_Oui, entrez, s'il vous plait_." (Yes, come in, please.) Alphonse stepped back and opened the door wider. As they entered the room, Arthur closed the door behind them. He glanced around the room. It didn't look like Alphonse had been there long - there was a suitcase sitting in the corner of the closet, nothing on the hangers, and the only thing disturbed was the bed. Either the man had arrived moments before they had, or he really didn't take up that much space.

"….really?" Laura had found the self help book left on the bed. "Prettier Woman - how to turn away and move on from your whorish past." She looked at Alphonse. The man shifted awkwardly, glancing first at Arthur, then back at Laura.

"….well, they don't make those for men….uh…._qui est-il_?" (…who is he?) Laura set the book down and smiled gently.

"It's alright, love." She promised. "He won't judge you…" Here Laura gave Arthur another steely glare. The Englishman was the first to look away. "Arthur, this is my friend, Alphonse Berriet…Alphonse, I'd like you to meet my father." Laura introduced. "Arthur Kirkland."

"Ah, _c'est un plaisir_…" (It is a pleasure…) Alphonse nodded politely in Arthur's direction. "So….you are like us, I assume?" Arthur nodded.

"Indeed." He replied. "I think I can guess who your father is…" Arthur smirked. "You look just like him." Laura smiled approvingly, and Alphonse took that as a compliment. The man started some tea (which, to Arthur's surprise, was quite good, despite being made in a coffee maker), and the three sat and talked for a while. Arthur just sat and listened, quietly sipping his Earl Grey as Laura and Alphonse conversed in French.

Really, he was a little amazed by his daughter's language skills. So far, he'd heard her speaking Russian with Svetlana, Turkish or something over the phone on the drive down, and now French with her companion. His own skills with the language were more than a little rusty, but Arthur was understanding enough words to catch the gist of the conversation…and Alphonse's body language was enough to get him the rest of the way.

Already, he could fathom a guess at the 'immoral profession' Laura had mentioned, and just how seriously all those decades of it had affected the blonde man. Arthur could see the way Alphonse's hand shook against his cup, and how he need both hands when he went to take a sip. His body posture, overall, was tense, as though he were permanently before a crowd. Arthur felt a little uncomfortable scrutinizing the man, and looked down into his cup as he tuned back intuit he conversation.

"._.. N'ont pas eu un autre cauchemar, que vous avez_?" (…haven't had another nightmare, have you?) Laura was asking. Alphonse sighed, somewhat shakily.

"_Aujourd'hui même, en fait ... J'ai essayé de faire une sieste et s'est réveillé mes voisins ..._" (Just today, actually….I tried to take a nap and woke up my neighbors…) He admitted. Laura reached over and patted Alphonse's hand, letting hers linger, and their fingers entwine.

"_Vous savez, vous n'avez pas à prendre la parole aujourd'hui…_" (You know, you don't' have to speak today…) Laura pointed out. "…_vous pourriez leur dire que vous êtes malade, ou quelque chose ..._." (You could just tell them your'e sick, or something…) Alphonse gave a grim sort of laugh.

"_Si je reculer maintenant, n'est-ce pas, comme la remise à ce sujet?_" (If I back out now, is that not like surrendering to this?) He mused. Laura bit her lip.

"._... Je comprends votre point de ._.." (…I see your point….) She sighed. She patted Alphonse's hand one more time, then stood up. "Alright, well….it's nearly time for us to speak…" She pointed out, a tad regretfully. "Dad, I need to stop to change quickly, then you'll have to wait for us. It shouldn't take long; neither of us like to hang around these things…" Alphonse chuckled quietly.

"A great place to meet great minds, is also fantastic place to meet overinflated egos." He mused. Arthur chuckled.

"Aye, those do get on the nerves." He stood up and held out his hand. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Alphonse. The tea was quite lovely." Alphonse smiled and shook Arthur's hand, though somewhat gingerly. Then Laura led the way out of the room. When the door had closed, Alphonse self-consciously locked it again. He sat down on the bed, and after a moment's hesitation, picked up the self help book again.

* * *

OMG, this chapter has Canadians! 8D

1) **SunflowerKolKolKol** - XD To make that mental image more interesting…his grandkids are twins. And then Nathan and Sve-...wait. Whoops. XD

2) **LuckyNumbers** - Canadian Bonding! XD And eventually, yes, Alexi probably will die. Or disappear on his way back to Russia. XD And for what he'll do in later chapters, trust me, Laura WILL kick his ass…XD

3) **Aviantei** - Yesh….Benoit is terrified of Russia and Hungary. Because both try to pick him up every time they see him. XD

4) **Rain Karami** - Don't worry! The Prussians will arrive soon!


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26~^_^ Sorry it took me so long - school trip to the CF Zoo for art class today. Some friends of mine came in cosplay, so we were distracted chasing Sora and Kairi around the reptile house...LONG after we were released. XD

* * *

Thankfully, the drive back to Washington D.C. was less eventful than the drive to Richmond.

With Alphonse in tow, Laura and England fought over the map once or twice, and which roads would get them around tolls and detours and how American's never drive 'the right way'. Alphonse sat quietly throughout these 'debates', buried, or so it seemed, in his self help book. He made a point, however, to keep the title covered, in case anyone looked through the windows. All arguments aside, they made fabulous time, shrinking a roughly two hour trip to a mere seventy-two minutes.

Upon arrival in D.C., Laura tried to call Nathan to get directions to the Kellogg Conference center. She'd never spent much time in this city before, and had no idea where to go. Unfortunately, Nathan was no help, as he never answered his phone. Growling, Laura called Svetlana instead. Once she had directions (and had dished out her 'your boy-toy is an irresponsible lazybones who never picks up his phone' rant), she drove to the conference center and parked in the back.

Svetlana met them at the doors and ushered them inside, explaining that America and Nathan had gone to the airport to pick up other arriving nations. As they moved toward the room America had managed to sneak them all into, Svetlana introduced herself to Alphonse, and tried to shake his hand. The young Russian missed the way the older man stiffened and didn't return the gesture quite as enthusiastically.

England, however, didn't. As soon as Svetlana let go, the Englishman stepped between them, inquiring as to how the young woman was getting along with her father. Svetlana happily changed topics, and in the distraction, Alphonse dropped back to walk beside Laura. A green nailed hand found his, and lightly entwined their fingers.

"Are you ready?" She asked.

"Hn?" Alphonse looked at her. "Ready for what, again?" He asked, dragged from his thoughts. Having accomplished what she set out to do, Laura smiled.

"Are you ready to meet your father and brother?" She clarified. Alphonse paused.

"That's….that's right…" He muttered. "I have a baby brother, don't I?" Laura nodded.

"Ten years old, and the cutest little thing." She smiled. "He can only speak French, so there's no language barrier." She added, given Alphonse's hand a gentle squeeze. "Now come on, love, smile, for once today." Alphonse made a face.

"Laura, I do not smile on command." He replied. Laura smirked.

"Oh, so you want me to command you, do you?" She chuckled. "I thought you grew out of that phase by 1870." Alphonse's face flushed and he punched Laura's shoulder.

"That is not what I meant, and you know that!" He growled. Laura laughed and reentwined their fingers.

"Calm down, love, you know I'm only joking." She laughed. "But you do need to smile. Really. Make a good impression with your baby brother." Alphonse frowned. "….that's going in the opposite direction." Laura sighed. "Ally, don't worry. I'm sure Benoit will love you - I don't think it's possible for him to dislike anyone who tries to be nice." Alphonse paused, then gave Laura a strange look. "…what?" She asked.

"You called me 'Ally'." Alphonse replied. Laura frowned.

"Aye, I called you that all the time when we fled Port Royal." She recalled. "Didn't mean it so nicely, back then, I don't think…." She cringed.

"You haven't called me 'Ally' since 1894." Alphonse noted. Both Frenchman and Englishwoman fell silent. 1894 had been a difficult year for both of them, and each was glad to have put that time far out of sight. Unfortunately, the past always had a way of rearing its ugly head…

"Hey!" Alphonse and Laura stopped and looked back. Svetlana and England were standing in a doorway about ten feet or so behind them in the hallway. Svetlana put her hands on her hips. "The meeting is in here." The Russian woman raised a suspicious eyebrow. "Were you two sneaking off somewhere?"

"NO!" Alphonse and Laura quickly denied. England just smirked and walked into the room.

* * *

The eight hour flight from Berlin to New York had been bad. The four hour drive from New York to Washington, D.C., with Feliciano, his brother, and America, could only be worse.

"Vee, Doitsu! I'm hungry!"

"Yeah, West! I'm starved - that's not awesome! The Awesome demands food!" A vein began to twitch in Germany's forehead and he growled.

"America should arrive any minute to pick us up. You can buy food later." He commanded. Italy visibly slumped on the bench they were waiting at, and Prussia narrowed his red eyes defiantly.

"_Nein!_" (No,) The Prussian argued. "_Ich bin hungrig, verdammt! Gib mir zu essen!_" (I'm hungry, damnit! Give me food!) He demanded, pounding his fist on the bench for effect and making Italy jump.

"_Holen Sie es selbst_!" (Get it yourself!) Germany snapped back. Italy wailed and started waving a white flag (where the hell had he pulled that from?) above his head.

"_Mi arrendo! Arrestare il spaventoso gridare_!" (I surrender! Stop the scary yelling!) The little nation wailed. Germany facepalmed and heaved a heavy sigh.

"Stop waving that thing, Italy. I promise I won't yell anymore." He groaned. Italy immediately cheered up and put the flag away (where? Germany wasn't sure), wearing his usual cheery smile.

"Okay!" He smiled. Prussia growled, but also quieted, instead raiding his little brother's bag for any spare snacks or drinks that hadn't been devoured yet. "Vee…is that America?" Italy pointed to a blonde waving at them from across the airport's covered street. Prussia sat up to look.

"….nah, can't be." The albino sat back confidently. "That guy's too short."

"Look! There's another one!" Italy pointed. Germany blinked. Alright…the taller one was definitely America. But….who was the other one? "_Ciao_!" (Hello!) Italy shouted across the street suddenly, hopping up from the bench and waving. " America! Who's the other you?" Even from that distance, Germany could see the frighteningly cheery grin that spread across the superpower's face.

"My son!" He shouted back. Behind him, Germany heard Prussia choke on the soda he'd scavenged from his brother's bag.

"HIS WHAT?"

"Oh wow!" Italy raced across the street, leaving behind a pair of stunned Germans, and seemingly oblivious to the furious motorists that had to slam on the breaks to avoid hitting the cheery Italian. "You have a son? Is he another state? He looks just like you!" America chuckled behind his hand as Italy finally cleared the street and reached them.

"Italy, meet my son Nathan! I'm not sure what he is, really, but he's mine!" He grinned. Nathan made a face.

"Gee, thanks Dad - oof!" The young man had the wind knocked out of him as Italy hugged him with shocking strength.

"Veee, it's so good to meet you!" The Italian smiled. "You look just like your father! Do you like hamburgers too? Can you lift a car?" Nathan gasped, arms trapped by the hug.

"I….c-can't breathe…." He muttered.

"Oy, Feli! Let the poor boy breathe!" Prussia shouted as he and Germany crossed the street (after the traffic had subsided, of course). The albino looked down at the shorter America gasping for breath after Italy let him go. "….this is _your_ kid." He looked at America for clarification. The blonde nodded proudly.

"Yup!" He grinned. Prussia snorted.

"You expect me to believe you - of all people - got laid?" Both America's eyes widened.

"Hey!"

* * *

Laura and Alphonse entered the meeting room, and found it somewhere around halfway full. Svetlana had already joined her father at one end of the table, where he was sitting with Lithuania, Estonia, and poor Latvia. Poland was sitting with Lithuania, going on and on about some sale he was missing for this dumb meeting, and Greece, to Poland's left, was fast asleep in his chair, with a cat curled up on his chest.

Across the table, Turkey was sitting back and enjoying a show of Romano trying to beat up Spain. Hungary and Austria were sitting together to Turkey's right, somewhere between amused and annoyed by the scene. Belarus was staring at her brother, while Ukraine tried to distract her sister by brushing her hair.

Switzerland was seated with his sister, who was sitting beside Canada and his son Wyatt, who had Barnacle in his lap. Egypt was being his usual quiet self. Laura sighed as she looked around. This was almost everyone, she guessed…there were still many people she needed to make these nations call, and a few strings to pull to get some of the younger ones in touch.

"Is this everyone?" Alphonse asked. Laura nodded.

"Should be….Svetlana says Nathan went with his father to pick up a few more arrivals, but more or less, everyone should be here." She replied. "Oh, there we go," She pointed across the room to France and Benoit, both sitting well away from Russia.

"That's the personification of France, and your brother." Laura grabbed Alphonse's hand and led him around the table. "Come on, Benoit's been really excited to meet you." She dragged the man up to the other blondes. France broke out in a smile.

"Ah,_ bonjour! Vous devez être Alphonse!_" (Ah, hello! You must be Alphonse!) He shifted Benoit in his lap. "_C'est si bon de vous rencontrer enfin, mon fils_!" (It's so good to meet you at last, my son!)

"_Papa, est-ce mon grand frère? Comme le Canada_?" (Papa, is this my big brother? Like Canada?) Benoit asked. France nodded, and the little boy smiled widely. "_Salut_!" (HI!) He told Alphonse cheerily. "_Mon nom est Benoit! Je suis ton petit frère_!" (My name is Benoit! I'm your little brother!) Alphonse couldn't help but crack a smile this time.

"_C'est un plaisir de vous rencontrer, mon frère._" (It's a pleasure to met you, brother.) He knelt down to Benoit's level. "_Je suis Alphonse_." (I'm Alphonse.)

"_Papa dit que vous êtes scientifique_." (Papa says your a scientist.) Benoit told his brother. "_Vous devez être vraiment, vraiment intelligent!_" (You must be really, really smart!) Alphonse paused.

After twelve years of a college education, and eighty years of bad decisions, was he really all that smart? Despite all his superior education, and all the time he'd every had to find new ways to earn a living, he'd ended up in one of the words venues imaginable. If he was so smart, then why hadn't he gotten out of this? Alphonse forced a smile, if only for his brother's sake, and patted Benoit's hair.

"_Oui ... je suis très intelligent_." (Yes….I'm very smart…) He sighed.

* * *

Short ending...XD

1) **Sile Authoress** - LOVE that idea. And yes. I quite possibly did. XD I've already planned out a oneshot that involves Svetlana telling her father…..and then Ivan goes to kill Nathan. XD

2) **SunflowerKolKolKol** - Yesh….Prussia's kids shall soon run free! Mwuahahahaha~XD Lessee…a Holocaust survivor, a pair of fight scene choreographers, a diva and a 5 your old. XD Pity Prussia. And Laura is liable to do either.

3) **natcat5** - Yes, China has kids. XD Only one actually participates…the rest only get mentioned.

4) **NightWolfMoon** - Yeah, sorry about that. DX Pasted the wrong translation there. Also: YES! XD Nathan'll be all like "OMG Roswell's real?" and Alfred'll be like "YUP! 8D"

5) **8D** - Thanks!


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27! XD Warning: Leans heavily on Google Translator.

* * *

They all reacted to the news a little differently, but no-one who didn't already know took it well.

Laura had a rather long list of "nationling" children that she knew of, or had contacted. Their ages ranged from just a few years old to several hundred years old. Some knew they were different, and some didn't. Some were financially stable, other's weren't. Laura listed most, before she reached a group of siblings and had to pause. The Englishwoman looked around the room before spotting the man who, no doubt, was the father.

"You. Albino." She called across the room, cutting through the murmurings of the other nations. She hardly flinched as a pair of furious red eyes fixed on her. "Go out and buy a parenting book or someone. You have five spawn to worry about." All side-talking ceased, and everyone turned to stare at the ex-nation of Prussia.

"….._WAS?_" (WHAT?) He repeated. "_Ich habe wie viele Kinder?_" (I have HOW MANY kids?)

"_Fünf._" (Five.) Laura shot back in somewhat fluent german. Surprised, the Prussian shut his mouth. "_Die älteste ist in meinem Alter, geben oder nehmen, und der jüngste ist fünf."_ (The oldest is my age, give or take, and the youngest is five.) She smirked. "Spread your 'awesomeness' quite far, haven't you?" Off to the side, Nathan snickered. Prussia sat back, an odd look on his face.

"_Ich bin ... ein Vater_?" (I'm….a dad?) He blinked. Slowly, a smile spread across his face. "_Oh mein Gott, ich bin ein Vater_!" (Oh my God, I'm a dad!) He cheered, his mood a complete opposite of a moment before. "_Westen, du bist ein Onkel_!" (West, you're an uncle!) Germany groaned and facepalmed.

"_Wie konntest du so unverantwortlich_?" (How could you be so irresponsible?) He growled. Prussia smirked.

"_Du bist nur eifersüchtig wurde ich Vater vor dir!_" (You're just jealous I became a father before you!) He crowed.

"Not so fast," Laura interrupted. Germany peered at her from between his fingers. He really didn't like the way that girl was smiling…..she looked far too much like her father when she did. "The odd one may have the most to show for it, but he is, by no means, the only guilty party." Laua's smile widened devilishly as she watched a look of realization spread across Germany's face, mixed with a little bit of shock and horror.

"Wait….you mean…" The same look crossed Prussia's face, and suddenly he was grinning again. "My Bruder is a daddy, too?" Laura nodded. "_Bruder, du machst mich so stolz!_" (Brother, you make me so proud!) Germany's head hit the table with a loud _SMACK_. Prussia laughed.

"So, what's my nephew do for a living?" The albino asked Laura, kicking back and putting his feet up on the table.

"Oh, Markus trains dogs professionally," Laura explained, smiling. "He's pretty much stuck with that since 1896." Prussia snorted.

"Figures West's kid would work with dogs. What about my awesome kids?" He asked. Laura pretended to think.

"Well….you have a pair of twins - Gregor and Klaus - who choreograph fight scenes. Then you have a daughter, Johanna, who thinks the world revolves around her." She recalled.

"That's three. What about the last two?" Prussia asked, leaning forward curiously. Laura smiled.

"Ah, Katja and Konrad. Well, Katja's only five. She can count up to thirty in English and up to five in Japanese, and her favorite word is 'awesome'." Prussia laughed.

"Kesesesesese, and Konrad?" He asked. Laura frowned.

"Well…"

* * *

When you have over four hundred years to practice, you tend to get very good at your chosen skill.

His skill just so happened to be lying. He needed to do it all the time, after all. When people asked him who his parents were, he lied. When people asked who Katja's mother was, he lied. When people asked if his baby sister were his daughter, he lied. When asked what his day job was, he lied. It was actually quite hard, for someone who, normally, would be so brutally honest, even Canadians wouldn't be able to forgive him.

But practice makes perfect, doesn't it?

He lounged along the rafters of the unfinished office building. Lying on his stomach, kicking his legs in the air, he looked more like he were a teen girl reading a magazine than an assassin waiting for his target. Red eyes scanned the floor below, pockmarked with plaster, dust, and balled up wads of painter's tape. The building was nowhere near finished, and wouldn't be opened for use - public or private - for several months. It was, however, being used as a temporary hide-out for a person-of-interest of the German government.

Technically, he wasn't a member of said government. Technically, he wasn't even military anymore (though, if he had to be, he'd be GS9, for sure!). He was just a guy with skills, stealth, and a helluva lotta ammo and sharp things. You know, just your normal, average, every day, four hundred year old, semi-immortal international mercenary. And not even that - his work was legal…..most of the time. His license to kill was real and legit, and his employers were almost always law enforcement officials of SOME kind. Thankfully, he had the ability to pick and choose his own contractors, and therefore, never had to worry about the 'justice vs. morality' issue.

A door creaked open somewhere on the floor below, and the man stiffened. A sliver of light cast itself across the floor, only to be blocked out by a shadow a moment later. Gloved hands tightened around the barrel and trigger of a Karabinger 98k rifle. one red eye was closed to sight along to the target, and a frightening smile lit up his face. "_Essen kugeln, du bastard."_ (Eat bullets, you bastard.)

_Pew_.

The target collapsed with a bullet lodged in his skull. The assassin straightened up and lower his sniper rifle, giggling to himself. "_Ich hab ditch gut_…" (I got you good…) He muttered. Confidently, he jumped down from the rafters, landing in a crouch and slinging the rifle across his back. The albino strode across the floor to the dead body, placed his foot on the shoulder, and rolled it over. "_Scheiße_." (Shit.) He cursed, smile vanishing. This wasn't his target. This was a decoy. A damned good one. The assassin froze, straining his ears to catch the tiniest of sounds as he stood alone in the middle of the room.

_Click_.

_[There.]_ The assassin threw himself to the ground just as a gunshot rang out. A .22 bullet punched a hole in the plastered wall behind him, and before the dust had settled, the assassin had drawn a machine pistol and unloaded half the magazine into the shooter's room. He waited several minutes, but there were no sounds; no clicking, no rustling, and no breathing. The albino straightened up and looked back at the bullet that had been aimed at his head. He snorted. "_Verpasste von einer Meile._" (Missed by a mile.) He laughed. Pleased with his own powers of evasiveness, the mercenary moved toward the shooter's room.

He had to pause in the doorway. Even he had standards about what he would and wouldn't touch, and this sight was pushing it pretty far.. The man cringed and shook his head. "_Autsch. Das ist ein Geduldsspiel für die Aufnahme Bücher_." (Ouch. That's a headache for the record books.) He 'tsked' as he approached the body. He nudged what was left with the toe of his boot and watched it roll limply to the side, smirking with an odd fascination. Then he noticed the paper bag on the floor a few feet away. A packed lunch - the shooter had planned to wait a while. The albino prodded the bag curiously and pulled out a small container of chopped worst and some carrots. He made a face and tossed the carrots back in the bag.

"_Kann ich essen_?" (Can I eat this?) The assassin addressed the shooter's dead body. "…_Schade, ich werde. Man kann nicht, jedenfalls_." (…Too bad. I'm gonna. You can't, anyway.) He popped open the container and tossed the chopped wurst into his mouth. "Mmm…." He hummed appreciatively as he chewed. "_Gute wurst_." (Good wurst.) He commented. The man tossed the container to the floor and stepped over the dead man's body. "_Man sollte nie versuchen, Ihre eigenen Mörder zu schießen…_" (You should never try to shoot your own assassin…) He laughed. "_Alles was es bekommt man mehr Löcher in den Kopf_." (All it gets you is more holes in the head.)

He strode out of the building calmly, as though he were out for a simple Sunday stroll. Whistling and twirling the now-empty machine pistol around one finger, the albino pulled a detonator from one of his utility vest pockets. "_Drei ... zwei ... zweieinhalb ..._" (Three…two…two and a half…) The building behind him suddenly exploded into flames on the fifth floor. The albino laughed and dropped the detonator, smashing it beneath the heel of his boot. "_Und das ist, warum Sie nicht überqueren Konrad Friedrich._" (And that is why you don't cross Konrad Frederick.) He cackled.

* * *

The open floor plan of the two story apartment meant that sounds echoed. A footstep on the second floor could be heard all the way across the space on the first floor. Sometimes, this scared Katja. It made the apartment feel open and unconfining during the day, but at night, it became frighteningly lonely. Especially on the nights _bruder_ Konrad had to go away. He would always come back, but Katja still didn't like having to play by herself.

That day, Katja came home from school to an empty apartment. Miss Helen, a nice lady who lived one floor below, always walked her home from school when Konrad was away on his 'trips', and made sure the little girl made it home. Sometimes, she stayed, if Konrad was going to be late, but today she didn't.

Kajta dropped her backpack by the door and ran across the open space, climbing onto the couch and snuggling into the pillows to wait by the landline on the coffee table. Konrad always called when he was on his way back, and Miss Helen hadn't stayed, so he must be coming home soon, right?

After several minutes of waiting, the phone rang. Katja snatched it up quickly. "_Hallo! Dies ist die Awesome Friedrich Residenz. Katja die Awesome sprechen_." (Hello! This is the Awesome Frederick residence, Katja the Awesome speaking.) She recited.

"_Hallo Katja, erinnerst du dich mir?_" (Hello Katja, do you remember me?) Laura's voice asked. "_Ich bin Professor Archer._" (I'm Professor Archer.)

"_Oh, ich erinnere mich dir_!" (I remember you.) Katja smiled. "_Du bist die Frau, die bei Bruder schreit! Du bist lustig_!" (You're the lady who yells at brother! You're funny.) She giggled.

"_Bin ich?_" (Am I?) Laura laughed. "_Ist Ihr Bruder zu Hause?_" (Is your big brother home yet?) She asked.

"_Nein_." (No.) Katja shook her head. "_Er ging auf eine Reise. Er bekommt wieder heute Abend_!" (He went on a trip. He gets back tonight.) She hopped back on the couch, kicking her legs over the edge. "_Sie sind Anrufe aus London? Brother sagt, das ist wirklich weit weg._" (Are you calling from London? Brother says that's really far away.) She asked.

"_Eigentlich bin ich aus Amerika anrufen._" (Actually, I'm calling from America.) Laura replied. Katja gasped.

"_Das ist noch weiter weg_!" (That's even farther away!) She breathed in awe. Laura laughed.

"_Ja, es ist._" (Yes, it is.) She paused. "._.. Katja, möchten Sie zu Ihrem Vater zu sprechen_?" (…Katja, would you like to speak to your father?) She asked.

"._.. Sie fanden vater?_" (...You found daddy?) Katja blinked. "_Ist er awesome?_" (Is he awesome?) There was a slight commotion on the other end fhb phone, and a new voice came on the line.

"_Die Awesomest_." (The Awesomest.) This new voice laughed. "_Hallo, Vögelchen. Ich bin dein Vater!_" (Hello, little birdie. I'm your father!)

* * *

Hmm. Prussians appear to have dominated this chapter. 8D

1) **LuckyNumbers** - Action AND Prussians - as requested! ^_^

2) **The-Goldstein-Sharpshooter** - Don't give me ideas, now. XD

3) **Meerkat** - Thanks! ^_^ If you decide to write your story, will you tell me? I'd love to read it!

4) **Somnium Mos** - Whoa! Thanks so much! 8D Huh, I guess that would. XD ….OMG, what does that make her to Sweden and Finland? XD


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28! XD Sorry it took so long, but college projects are piling up...and I've found a TV channel that runs the original Generation One Transformers. My inner fangirl has been shamelessly staying up FAR too late for the past three days to watch. XD

* * *

Chaos reigned in the conference room.

Lithuania nearly passed out at the thought of having a child somewhere in the world, and when Latvia and Estonia's attempts to calm the third of their trio showed no success for the first few minutes, Svetlana tried to help. At this point in time _Latvia_ passed out. Then poor Estonia had two nations to revive, with Svetlana apologizing over and over behind him, while Russia just giggled at the show.

Greece had woken up in time to hear Laura announce Turkey's name on the list of 'parent' nations, and started laughing. Growling, Turkey had stormed across the room to start yelling at Greece, who had argued right back in his ever-laid-back voice. Then Turkey had swung a fist. Greece retaliated, and within minutes, the two were rolling on the floor, knocking over chairs and smaller nations as the fought. Japan chased them across the room, struggling to calm them down without having to step directly between them. Throughout this, Laura was no help at all. In fact, she just sat back and laughed at the scene, calling it "the best reaction yet!"

Sealand decided, at this point in time, that if Laura was jerk-England's daughter, and jerk-England was his brother, than he - Sealand! - was Laura's uncle! Emboldened by the fact that no-one disputed this claim (too distracted as they were by handling their own bit of shocking news), he then demanded of his 'niece',

"Recognize me, Sealand, as a nation!" He struck a heroic pose from his chair between Sweden and Finland. Laura laughed.

"While I have no legal power to do so, I will recognize that you are adorable." She replied.

"…fair enough." Sealand sat back down, assisted by Sweden's hand on his head. "But wait, does this also make Mommy Finland your great-aunt?" He asked. Finland blushed.

"Peter, honey, I'm a male….and don't call me 'mommy'."

"But you are!" Sealand argued. Laura burst out laughing again and nearly fell out of her chair. She leaned over and elbowed Alphonse, who'd been taking great care to avoid touching France, though forced to sit between them.

"Aye, Ally! I think I like me family!" She giggled. Alphonse made a face.

"Of course you would, Laura…" He sighed. The englishwoman frowned and sat up, only to lean over on the table closer to Alphonse.

"And what's got your knickers in a knot?" She asked. "I thought you'd be happy today. You finally have a family." Alphonse frowned.

"….I don't want to talk about it now, Laura…" He muttered. The woman growled. She wasn't the kind to take being dismissed lightly - oh no, not at all. Laura stood up and grabbed Alphonse's arm.

"Fine then." She started pulling him toward the door. Alphonse blinked.

"Wait, what are you-" He was cut off mid-sentence.

"Shush, or we'll be caught, and I'll have to make up a story that's sure to follow the both of us for years." Laura warned. Alphonse quieted and let himself be pulled from the room. As they reached the doors, they passed Italy, who had missed the earlier commotion because he'd had too much wine on the flight from Germany to Washington D.C.

"Hi, everybody!" Italy stopped and blinked, taking a moment to observe the various reactions of his fellow nations - and one in particular. "Why is Doitsu sleeping? Is it siesta time?" He asked, confused. Nathan and America started laughing, then the nation walked up, and slung an arm around the Italian's shoulders.

"He's not sleeping, Italy! He just found out he's a daddy!" America laughed. Germany's head shot up.

"Don't say it so bluntly!" The German growled. Italy took several minutes to process this.

"..._ Doitsu è un padre?_" (Germany is a father?) The little Italian broke out into a wide smile. "Does that make me the mommy?" He gasped. Nathan stared laughing harder and fell out of his chair. America himself had a hard time staying upright, and, judging by appearance alone, it was a miracle Germany didn't pass out right then. "_Questo è meraviglioso! Fantastico_!" (This is wonderful! Fantastic!) He cheered. Italy ran across the room and hugged his _amico_ (friend). "_Siamo i genitori!_" (We're parents!) Germany twitched.

"….you DO realize," Estonia spoke up. "That any child he's had was with another woman…?" He pointed out. Italy just stared at him grinning. Estonia paused. "….as in, not you?"

"Any family of Germany is family of mine!" Italy smiled. Estonia sighed and gave up.

* * *

A few hours later, some of the nations had dispersed from the meeting room, either to escape the constant commotion, or jus to get some fresh air. Elizabeth, the nation of Hungary, was on the latter end of the spectrum. She sat on a bench in the hallway, leaning back against the wall as she collected her thoughts. Neither her name nor Austria's had been called from Laura's list of "nationlings", but only because, before the listing had begun, Laura and Hungary had talked privately.

Hungary was well aware that they, as nations, were capable of having children, and she knew just how long-lived they could be. In fact, she probably knew more about them than even Laura, though that might be a stretch. Really, she should have just told Austria by now…..after all, he _was_ the father….but between the divorce and wars and world affairs, she just hadn't found a time to stop procrastinating the fact.

She sighed and stood up, beginning to walk down the hall as she fingered the cell phone in her pocket. She could at least take the first step, and call the object of this decision….it had been several decades since they'd last talked. Hungary stopped when she overheard raised voices. Curious in spite of herself, she backtracked to the hall she'd just passed and turned down it.

Several doors down, France's youngest son, Benoit, was sitting on a bench, hugging his plush bird. A pair of voices were arguing back and forth in French in the room just across the hall. Hungary couldn't recognize the younger voice, but she did recognize the second voice as France's. Judging by Benoit's despondent demeanor, the subject of the borderline-violent argument wasn't good.

"Oh, little boy." Hungary walked over and sat beside Benoit on the bench. "Are your papa and brother fighting?" Benoit just stared at her for a few minutes, silently trying to translate. He didn't understand fluent English - only certain keywords here and there - but once he thought he had a good idea of what Hungary had said, he nodded.

"_Grand frère Alphonse Papa est en colère contre ..._" (Big brother Alphonse is mad at Papa for leaving him…) He explained. "_Mais ce n'est pas la faute de papa! Il ne savait pas sur moi dans un premier temps, que ce soit ..._" (But it's not Papa's fault! He didn't know about me at first, either…) Now Hungary needed a minute to translate. Her French wasn't good, but she managed to understand enough.

"Oooh…" She picked up the little boy and hugged him, much to Benoit's shock. "You poor boy! Don't worry, I'm sure your papa and brother will make up soon!" Benoit squirmed.

"_Mettez-moi vers le bas!_" (Put me down!) He cried. "_Cette étreinte est trop serré!_" (This hug is too tight!)

* * *

He'd been in pain before. He'd torn his skin, bruised his muscles, and broken bones before. But this was a pain he hadn't known. It was sharp. Throbbing. Burning. It crunched when he tried to move. It dominated his thoughts and squeezed every last tear from his eyes. It laced every frantic, gasping breath with a mesh of pain, and turned cries for help into wordless sobs.

Benoit cowered beneath the bottom ledge of an elevated fountain, in some unfrequented corner of a Washington D.C. park. He clutched his burned hand to his chest, shaking and sobbing in shock, fear, and pain. He wanted his _frères_. He wanted his _papa_. He wanted to be held, and comforted; to be told everything would be alright and for the pain to go away. But, at the same time, he was too afraid to go back.

He had only wanted to help. _Grand frère_ Canada had been taking him to a shop where he could get this stone that was supposed to help. Uncle America had said it could 'relieve negative emotions', so _grand frère _Alphonse and Papa France would stop fighting. He'd traded his Pierre to Uncle America for a day for the money to buy the special stone, it was that important to him. On the way home, though, they had been attacked by two mean Russians.

_Grand frère_ Canada had knocked one of them out right away, but the other man had tried to grab Benoit. He'd been holding something plastic and liquid filled, which broke when Canada slammed him against the wall. The foul-smelling liquid had splashed down Benoit's hand and arm, and the Russian had tried to click the lighter on, not knowing the fuel had spilled. A spark was still created, and it had been enough to ignite the fuel.

_Grand frère_ Canada had managed to tear off Benoit's jacket sleeve before the fire spread to his arm, ignoring the Russian man, who had fled the alley, screaming in pain, but the little boy's hand was still ablaze. Canada had smothered the remainder of the blaze with the sleeve of his own jacket, wrapping it tightly around Benoit's hand. It had been excruciatingly painful, and Benoit had started screaming, trying to pull away. Canada didn't let go until the flames had died completely, but as soon as he had let go, Benoit had torn his hand away and ran.

Now, shivering beneath the fountain ledge several hours later, as the sun started dipping behind the surrounding cityscape, Benoit really wished he hadn't run. This hurt too much. He didn't know how to make it stop, and he wanted to go home. A fresh jab of pain shot down his arm, and Benoit started to wail anew.

"_Papa ... frère ... ça fait mal…_" (Papa…brother….it hurts…) He sobbed. "_... Que ça s'arrête ... Je veux rentrer à la maison ..._" (…make it stop…I wanna go home…)

"Benoit! _Petit frère_!" (Little brother!) The little boy looked up sharply and saw Canada and Alphonse rushing toward him from across the courtyard, both looking like they had just seen a ghost. Benoit wiped his eyes with his shaking good hand, but that didn't stop the tears.

"_Grands frères ..._" (B-big brothers..) He hiccuped, breaking into fresh sobs. "_J-Je veux rentrer à la m-maison_!" (I-I want to go h-home!) Alphonse reached him first and fell to his knees, gently pulling the little boy out from beneath the fountain and into his lap.

"Shush, _petit frère…"_ (Shush, baby brother…) Alphonse whispered. "_C'est bien, maintenant ... frère Canada et je vais vous ramener chez vous._" (It's okay, now…brother Canada and I will take you home.) Benoit sniffed and buried his face in his half-brother's shirt, still shaking.

"_Je... Je tenais simplement à vous aider_!" (I….I just wanted to help!) He whimpered. "_J'ai même eu la pierre oncle Amérique a dit aiderait_!" (I even got the stone Uncle America said would help!) Benoit wailed. Alphonse gingerly patted his half-brother's back, confused.

"_Aide ... avec quoi, mon petit?_" (Help….with what, little one?) He asked cautiously. Benoit sniffed and hiccuped, trying to get his crying under control and failing.

"_Les combats. Oncle d'Amérique a dit qu'il y avait une pierre qui pourrait 'libérer les émotions négatives'..._" (The fighting. Uncle America sati there was a stone that could 'relieve' negative emotions'…) Benoit explained through his tears. Canada gently patted his hair, trying to help calm the boy. "_J'ai pensé que si je l'ai eu, vous et Papa allait enfin cesser de se battre ..._" (I thought, if I got it, you and Papa would finally stop fighting…) Alphonse's heart skipped a beat, and though he didn't look up, he still felt the semi-accusing glare Canada threw his way.

"_Non, non ... petit frère ..._" (No, no…little brother…) He sighed, wrapping his arms tight around his shaking half-brother. "_Vous n'avez pas besoin de la pierre de spécial pour nous arrêter de se battre_." (You don't need any special stone to stop us fighting.) Benoit whimpered and wriggled in his brother's grip, twisting around to reach into his pocket with his good hand.

"_Etes-vous sûr?_" (Are you sure?) He sniffed. "_Parce que je l'ai ici ..._" (Because I have it here…) Benoit pulled a small, polished chunk of magnetite from his pocket and dropped it in Alphonse's hand. "_Je voulais vous surprendre et Papa ..._" (I wanted to surprise you and Papa….) He explained, wrapping his shaking arm around his brother's neck and holding tight through another wave of pain. "_Mais, si vous le prenez maintenant ..._" (But, if you take it now…) He sniffed, fighting back more tears. "_... Il va améliorer les choses plus vite_?" (…will it make things better faster?)

Alphonse didn't know what to say. He somewhat unconsciously cradled Benoit against his shoulder as he and Canada stood up, and began walking in the general direction of the designated meeting area, as the first thing Canada had done when Benoit had run off was to call in a search party of nations and "nationlings". They were a fair distance away, so the walk would take several minutes. Benoit whimpered and curled his good hand around his half-brother's collar.

"_Grands frères ... ma main vraiment, vraiment mal ..._" (Big brothers….my hand really, really hurts….) He whined. Canada reached over and tenderly stroked Benoit's hair, smiling comfortingly.

"_Il suffit de tenir le, petit chitin_," (Just hold on, little kitten,) The Canadian soothed. "_Oncle Autriche fera tout mieux bientôt_." (Uncle Austria will make everything better soon.) He promised. Benoit nodded quietly, eyes still filled with tears, and buried his face in Alphonse's collar.

"_J'ai envie de dormir, mon frère ..._" (I feel sleepy, brother…) He muttered, eyes already falling shut. Alphonse adjusted his grip to make sure Benoit didn't slip as he fell asleep, his injured hand dangling over his half-brother's shoulder. He glanced at Canada, and found the northern nation staring at him with a determined look in his violet eyes.

"….what?" He asked. Canada frowned.

"You and Francis need to make amends. If not for yourselves, then for Benoit. This is hurting him more than it's hurting either of you." Alphonse looked away, and Canada said no more. They didn't speak again until they reached the rendezvous point.

* * *

Okay...so the middle segment was short...but it got the point across...right?

1) **SunflowerKolKolKol** - 1,000,000,000 awesome points? 8D Huzzah!

2) **natcat5** - Well…Katja is, I'll admit, the non-albino, gender-bent Prussia clone. XD There are a LOT of people, and a LOT of reactions, to go through, so I don't' think I can handle them all at once in great detail. BUT once everyone starts meeting their kids one-on-one, I'll go into greater detail. ^_^

3) **Aviantei** - Hmm…A Prussian arc? Well…I hadn't planned on giving anyone of the five but Konrad and Katja any actual speaking rolls, to lower the in-story OC number…but that's an interesting idea. XD

4) **Giant-Rubber-Duck** - No one has died yet….but that information WILL come into play in later chapters. 8)

5) **ForgotHerPassword** - Don't worry, it's not rude. XD I'll be honest, I just spammed Google for "German names for boys". The website gave me "Konrad", so I just copy-pasted. That's good to know, though!

6) **Fantasyname** - I have no excuse. XD I think I've watched too much "Deadliest Warrior", missed too much sleep, and haven't changed my DeviantArt name in years. XD It abbreviates to GS9, which is probably why I didn't catch that….thanks for pointing that out!

7) **Sile Authoress** - Konrad is the Holocaust survivor, while Markus is the one who fought in WWII. Konrad was born…hmm….1764, I suppose? He's the oldest, not counting China's son (who's profile, to be honest, isn't cemented yet). And thanks! ^_^

8) **Potatostien** - Nathan stopped aging at age 19, an age he would have reached in 1970. I haven't quite figured out how fast/slow the "nationlings" age, but Laura and Alphonse, for example, are several centuries old, and appear to be late twenties/early thirties. Whereas Nathan and Svetlana are only several decades old, and so, still appear in their late teens/early twenties. Benoit, Katja, and others that haven't been mentioned yet are too young to have "paused" yet.


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29! Holy Carp, that's almost 30! XD

* * *

Only France, Austria and Wyatt were at the rendezvous point when Alphonse and Canada arrived with Benoit. By this time, the little boy had woken up, but hadn't moved much from his brother's shoulder. France rushed over immediately, while Austria let out a quiet sigh of relief, and Canada moved to talk with his son.

"Laura called a few minutes ago," Wyatt reported. "She asked if we could spare a person or two to head for the airport. More 'nationlings' are arriving." He chuckled. "Funny word, eh?" Canada smiled.

"Yeah, eh. I guess we could go, if she can't find anyone else that's free." He suggested. "Benoit should be fine, now…Austria will take care of his wound, and he'll be with his brothers…"

"Kid got burned, right?" Wyatt frowned, remembering the story his father had shared with him - but apparently not the father of said injured child. "Who was that guy who attacked you? Was he Bratva?" Wyatt asked. "I thought they were only out for Nathan or Svetlana?" Canada shook his head.

"Either they saw us with Nathan at some point, or they thought I was America…I know he's had his fair share of run-ins with the Russian mob since his son got out. He won every time." Canada smirked mirthlessly. Wyatt patted his shoulder.

"Hey, it this case, mistaken identity was a good thing - you're a helluva lot scarier than Uncle Al when you're mad." Wyatt laughed. "Benoit couldn't have been with a better person."

"_Qu'est ce que c'est? Mon petit garçon est blessé? Qu'est-ce que vous laissez passer?_!" (What is this? My little boy is hurt? What did you let happen!) Both Canadians cringed at the abrupt outburst of angry french. Wyatt wasn't a fluent speaker, and Canada's own skills were somewhat rusty, but both could understand enough to infer - along with the furious and concerned tone of voice - the meaning,

"_Ce n'était pas ma faute_!" (This wasn't my fault!) Alphonse shot back angrily. Benoit whimpered sadly, despite being cradled in his father's comforting arms. It didn't look like his special rock was working. Austria walked over and took the little boy from his father's arms carefully.

"Let's get that hand looked at…_Mettons-nous que la main regarda_." Benoit nodded tearfully, and Austria carried him away to a table, where a first aid kit was waiting. He peered over the brunette's shoulder at his father and brother - now tossing insults and a few words he didn't know back and forth heatedly. Benoit sulked. His hand still hurt, and his plan wasn't' working at all…this wasn't fair….

"_Je n'aime pas ce que vous pensez!_" (I don't care what you think!) Alphonse shouted in frustration, interrupting his father. "_Ce n'est pas ma responsabilité de -_" (It's not my responsibility to-) He went to place his hands on his hips defiantly, and his fingers landed, instead, on the lump inside his coat pocket that was Benoit's 'special stone'. Alphonse stopped and quieted mid-sentence. He pulled the piece of magnetite out of his pocket to look at it, attracting France's attention.

"_Qu'est-ce que c'est_?" (What is that?) The nation asked. Alphonse ran his thumb over the polished black surface.

"Magnetite." He realized. "_Il est censé 'libérer les émotions negatives' ..._" (It's supposed to 'relieve negative emotions'…) He sighed. "_Il s'est fait mal à cause de cette ..._" (He got himself hurt for this…)

Maybe it was the magnecite working its magic. Maybe it was just a well-timed epiphany. Maybe Alphonse just realized how useless all this arguing truly was. Whatever the reason, the archeologist sighed, and held out the stone to France. "_Nous devons arrêter cela._" (We have to stop this.) He realized aloud. "_Cela nous mène nulle part et que nuire à ceux qui nous entourent_." (It's getting us nowhere, and only hurting those around us.) France nodded quietly.

"_Je suis d'accord ..._" (I agree…) He replied softly. "_Je n'aime pas se battre avec vous, mon fils_." (I do not like fighting with you, son.) He added. "_Croire que ou non ..._" (Believe that or not.)

"._.. Peut-être que nous pourrions mettre de côté les griefs de ce point sur les_?" (…perhaps we could set aside grievances from this point on?) Alphonse suggested. France smiled and nodded.

"_Oui, je crois que cela va fonctionner._" (Yes, I believe that will work…) His smile widened a little and he held out his arms. "_Alors comment ... environ un câlin pour Papa_?" (So….how about one hug for Papa?) Alphonse stiffened. "_Juste une_?" (Just one?) France pleaded.

"…_.juste use_…" (…just one…) Alphonse edged forward and gingerly hugged his father. Smiling broadly, the nation returned the hug much more enthusiastically, prompting a startled squeak from Alphonse.

* * *

"_Bruder, können wir jetzt aussteigen_?" (Brother, can we get off now?)

"_Noch nicht._" (Not yet.)

"_Bruder, ann ich ausziehen dieser Sicherheitsgurt_?" (Brother, can I take off this seatbelt?)

"_Nein_." (No.)

"Bruder, _warum sind diese Brezeln so winzig_?" (Brother, why are these pretzels so tiny?)

"_Weil sie Zwerg Brezeln sind_." (Because they're dwarf pretzels.) Konrad finally came up with an inventive answer to his baby sister's near-constant questions. "_Sie brauchen nicht zu diskriminieren Zwerg Brezeln wollen, nicht wahr_?" (Eat them all now. You don't want to discriminate against dwarf pretzels, do you?) He asked, leaning in to look Katja eye to eye. The little girl's eyes widened and she stuffed a handful of tiny pretzels in her mouth.

"_Nein, Bruder! Diskriminierung ist schlecht_!" (No, brother! Discriminatin is bad!) She answered through a full mouth. Konrad laughed and ruffled her short brown hair.

"_Gute Mädchen_." (Good girl.) He smiled. It had been a long flight from Berlin, and Katja's first across the Atlantic. So far, she'd handled herself far better than any other child her age on the flight. Then again, she was 'the Awesome Katja'. In her own words, she was 'too awesome for boredom'.

"_Ladies and Gentlemen, we are arriving in Washington D.C.,_" The pilot's voice came over the plane's speaker system. "_We ask that you please return all seat backs and treys to their upright and locked positions for landing. We hope you enjoyed flying with us today, and will do so again in the future_." Konrad smiled.

"_Hören, Schwester? Wir sind fast da_." (Here that, sister? We're almost there.) Katja chewed her pretzels and swallowed.

"_Ist die Dame aus London gehen, um uns abzuholen_?" (Is the Lady from London gonna pick us up?) She asked. Konrad shook his head.

"_Nein, aber einige Freunde von ihr sind_." (No, but some friends of hers are.) He smiled and winked at his sister. "_Sie verhalten wird, richtig_?" (You will behave, correct?) Katja saluted.

"_Bruder, Ich werde bis zu verhalten Umständen etwas anderes sagen, mein Herr!_" (Brother, I will behave until circumstances say otherwise, sir!) A wide grin split Konrad's face.

"_Sehr gut, Schwester_!" (Very good, sister!) He praised. Katja giggled proudly.

Once the plane had landed, getting through the airport was no big issue. Konrad had traveled many times before, and Katja stayed close to her little brother as they left the gates behind and headed for the baggage claim. There, Katja had plenty of fun chasing bags up and down the conveyor belt, each time thinking it was theirs, before breaking off the chase at the end of the loop and returning to her big brother. Of course, Konrad kept an eye on her the entire time, and no-one dared speak up about the wild-child with the (terrifying) red-eyed albino.

After a while, though, even Konrad decided Katja was getting a little too rambunctious, and decreed that she would sit and guard their retrieved bags (awesomely, of course), while Konrad chased down the last bag. The little girl plopped down on her big brother's suitcase and started looking around. She wasn't bored. She was too awesome for that. She was 'people watching'. Katja looked past scary looking business men, unawesome little kids crying or yelling, and one little girl who looked very out of place.

Katja thought she looked Indian. But she'd never seen a person from India, so she wasn't sure. The girl looked older than her, and had dark skin (darker than Katja's, and certainly darker than big brother Konrad's), brown eyes and black hair. She was wearing faded pink and orange saree that stood out against the darker colors of the airport baggage claim, and had a few tarnish bangles hanging off her thin wrists.

Normally, Katja avoided older kids - they weren't awesome enough to play with the Awesome Her - but this girl looked lost, and kind of scared. She was kind of scruffy looking, and Katja thought she seemed sad. That wasn't awesome. Forgetting her mission, the little girl hopped up and ran over to the older girl, standing anxiously beside a small, second-hand suitcase.

"_Hallo! Ich bin Katja!_" (Hello! I'm Katja!) She chirped. The older girl jumped, and looked at her with wide eyes.

"…?" She frowned. "?" (I don't speak…German.) She answered slowly. Katja frowned. That wasn't how she was supposed to answer. The little German girl placed on hand on her chest.

"Katja." She stated. Then she pointed at the older girl. The other's brown eyes lit up in realization. She placed a hand on her own chest.

"Ilayda…" She replied. "..do you speak English?" She asked tentatively. Katja nodded.

"Little!" She smiled, glad to have found a way to communicate. "You lost? Where parents?" Ilayda's smile fell.

"Don't have any…" She muttered. Katja gaped.

"Then how you get here?" She asked. Ilayda shrugged.

"Nice lady called the _polis_ (police) in Rajshahi. That's in Bangladesh. She had me flown here. I don't know why." She explained.

"Maybe she call both!" Katja grinned. "Big bruder and I came b'cause nice Lady from London called. Maybe she call you, too!"

"_Ben şüphe ..._" (I doubt that…) Ilayda muttered. Katja ignored her and grabbed her arm.

"Come! Meet big bruder!" She pulled Ilayda across the floor to her suitcase, and Konrad, who had just returned

"_Schwester, dachte ich, ich sagte dir zu bleiben_?" (Sister, I thought I told you to stay?) Konrad blinked when he realized Katja wasn't alone, and knelt down. "Hallo, _Kleines_," (little one) He smiled.

"_Dies ist Ilayda! Sie kommt aus Bangle ... ... Bangla Bang ... gal ... Ein anderer Ort_!" (This is Ilayda! She's from Bangle….Bangla….Bang…gal….Another place!) Katja spoke up. "_Sie ist alleine hier. Ich glaube, die Dame aus London nannte sie auch_!" (She's alone here. I think the Lady from London called her, too!) Konrad raised one pale eyebrow.

"_Haben Sie jetzt _…?" (Do you now?) He looked at Ilayda. "Do you speak English at all?" Ilayda nodded.

"I do." She replied.

"Alrighty, then. Katja tells me you were sent here?" He asked. Ilayda nodded. "Did anyone tell you if you would be picked up?" Konrad asked.

"This man told me to look for someone with a sign with my name on it." Ilayda explained. "But I don't know where to look." Konrad smiled.

"Well, Katja and I are looking for that same thing, but with our name. Why don't we search together?" He suggested. Ilayda stared at him warily for a minute.

"Okay." She agreed. Smiling, Konrad stood up.

"_Wunderbar_!" He crowed. "Katja, _vergessen Sie nicht Ihre Tasche, jetzt_." (Don't forget your bag, now.) Katja scrambled to pick up her suitcase.

"_Ich will nicht, Bruder_!" (I won't, Brother!) Ilayda stared after the two odd Germans, and then followed along behind Konrad.

"…you're odd." She stated. Konrad sighed flatly.

"Ja. I get that a lot."

* * *

"Miss Elizabeta?" Hungary tuned back in and realized she'd been staring at the same painting on the wall for several minutes. She turned to face Laura, who had come up behind her. The Englishwoman was wearing a concerned frown. "I'm sorry, but…do you really like facial hair that much?" She asked. Hungary blinked, and then took a good look at the painting she'd spaced out looking at. It was of some long-gone human diplomat…..with a rather impressive caterpillar living on his upper lip.

"Ah! No, no, of course not!" Hungary laughed. "I was just thinking…and got lost in my thoughts." Laura nodded understandingly.

"Aye. That seems to happen to Nathan a lot." She patted the other woman's shoulder. "Elizabeta, have you told him yet?" Laura asked, not beating around the bush anymore. Hungary looked away innocently, and the younger woman sighed. "Really, if you aren't going to tell the poor man, I am. Then where would you be?" Hungary made a face.

"Stuck listening to Chopin for a month…" She groaned. "I just don't know how he'll react! I mean, this happened right after we divorced, but I know he's the father…" Hungary thought aloud. It was Laura's turn to make a face.

"Well, why don't you call Richie first?" She suggested. Hungary perked up.

"It has been a few decades since we talked…" She mused. Laura nodded.

"I'm sure he'd love to come down from wherever he is now. They you can confront Austria together." Hungary blinked.

"…what, and just say 'Hey Roddy! Meet your son! I hid him from you for over three hundred years!'…he'll faint before I can get another word in edgewise." She huffed. Laura snickered and patted the Hungarian woman's back.

"Then introduce them in a room full of pillows and you'll be dandy." She giggled and turned to walk away. "Good luck, ducky. I get the feeling you'll need it." Hungary watched Laura walk away, and frowned thoughtfully.

"Devious little witch…..she'd make a great addition to the Goulash Club!" Hungary pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and flipped it open. She stared at the backlit keypad for a minute, before typing in a number she'd received only a year or two ago, but had never dialed before. She held it up to her ear, and listened to it ring once. times.

_Click_.

"_Helló, ez a Richard Héderváry_?" (Hello, is this Richard Héderváry) She asked. Upon receiving confirmation, Hungary smiled softly. "_Szia kicsim! Ez Mama_." (Hey sweetie! It's Mama.)

* * *

OH-kay...almost there...-_- Once all OCs have landed, individual reactions will take place...starting with Turkey and Austria. XD

1) **Somnium Mos** - YESYESYES! 8D I have been waiting 12 chapters for someone to ask that! XD Thank you for making my day! You just earned yourself BONUS POINTS!….and yes, Laura can see the Fae. XD Alphonse thinks she 'talks to herself'. XD I always thought that the innocent can see them, too (so NOT poor Alphonse) so Benoit and Katja (OH GOD not Konrad XD) could see them, too.

2) **Sile Authoress** - I did? O_o Whoops…..I need to stop doing things like that…thanks for the catch.

3) **Mosseyed wolf** - Dear God, throw me a lifeline! D8 What was I thinking? All these OCs! All these Nations! All the plot lines! *drowns* Oh, and don't worry, you'll see plenty of Scary!America and revived Pirate!England in later chapters. 8) Psycho!Canada, Protective!France, and...well...RUSSIA too. ^_^


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30. Explanations are required and shall be found at the bottom of the chapter. Thank you.

* * *

Night had fallen by the time the small group had traveled from the airport to the city. By this time, most nations and "nationlings" had retired to the nearby hotels for the night. Laura Archer remained at the Kellog conference center with two nations she had persuaded (threatened) to wait with her - Prussia and Turkey - along with Alphonse, who simply wasn't interested in walking back to his hotel alone at night in an unfamiliar city. When Canada and Wyatt returned with their passengers, they were greeted by four tired, cranky beings - not that they were any better. Traffic had been a total -

"Lady from London!" Katja shouted from the backseat as soon as a door was opened. Laura started up giggling as Canada and Wyatt climbed out and headed for the trunk of the minivan. The side doors opened and Konrad stepped out, before turning around and offering his hand to a little girl in a pink and orange saree. The girl hopped down, and then, with barely a thank you, ran around Konrad and to the trunk, where she waited impatiently for Wyatt to pull her suitcase down from the top of the pile - she had insisted it be on top. Shaking his head, Konrad turned back to the car and unbuckled a squirming Katja from her booster seat.

"_Anschlag winden, wir sind hier - ah_!" (Stop squirming, we're here - hey!) Katja wriggled out of her brother's arms and slid out of the car. She ran right up to the giggling Laura and stopped.

"Are you Lady from London?" She asked. Konrad went around to the back of the minivan to collect their suitcases. He started digging through one as Laura finally got a hand on her giggles.

"Yes, I am." She smiled, crouching down to the level of the little girl. "You must be Katja, aye?" The little girl nodded hard enough to make her pigtails bounce.

"Ja!" She smiled. "_Brother sagt, Sie hat uns das Flugzeug nach Amerika, und dass sollte man immer sagen "Danke", wenn Menschen schöne Dinge tun._" (Brother says you got us the plane to America, and that you should always say 'thank you' when people do nice things." She hugged Laura tightly, jumping up on her toes to reach. "_Vielen Dank, Dame aus London_!" (Thank you, Lady from London!) Laura smiled and returned the hug.

"You're very welcome, ducky." She stood up and looked at Konrad. "I do believe this is the first time in fifty years we've faced each other on normal terms." Konrad snorted.

"Normal terms?" He repeated. "Sweetheart, we were both born in the 17th century, give or take, and don't look a day over thirty. I don't think 'normal' applies to us." He laughed. Laura smirked.

"Well, it's at least nice to not have a musket pointed at my face this time." Konrad's smile dropped.

"Hey, THAT was a job. You're just lucky I said 'no'…..eventually." He added quietly. "You had quite a lot of people out for your head, back then, for a girl." Laura's good nature vanished in an instant.

"Excuse me? You think girls can't be devious?" She snapped. Konrad mentally slapped himself.

"That…those are not the words I used." He tried.

"But that is what you meant, isn't it?" Laura growled. Konrad shrank back, despite the fact that he was several inches taller than the woman wearing combat boots.

"No ma'am…" He muttered. Katja shook her head at her older brother and put her hands on her hips sternly.

"_Menschen auf, bruder_!" (Man up, brother!) Konrad put on a hurt expression, and Prussia, who had been listening to the entire conversation with an face-splitting grin, burst out laughing. The albino walked jumped over the decorative plant on the sidewalk that separated them and crouched down in front of Katja.

"_Hallo, meine Tochter. Ich bin du bist Vater!_" (Hello, my daughter. I'm your father!) Katja grinned, recognizing the voice from the phone call.

"_Meine 'awesome' Vater, nicht wahr?_" (My 'awesome' father, right?) Prussia squealed happily (a sound he later denied) and immediately picked up the little girl.

"_Sie sind definitiv meine Tochter!_" (You are definitely my daughter!) He declared. Katja giggled.

"_Bruder, kommen zu erfüllen Vater!_" (Brother, come meet father!) She told Konrad. As the Prussians got to know each other, Laura turned her attentions to the other little girl, who refused to let her suitcase out of her sight. She led the girl over to the second remaining nation, Turkey, who was seated on the nearby sidewalk-mounted bench.

"Ilayda…" Laura knelt down and gently pushed the girl in front of Turkey. "Meet your father." A long moment passed, in which, nation and "nationling" just stared at each other. Ilayda raised an eyebrow.

"... Sen benim babam değil mi?" (…you're my dad?) She asked incredulously. Turkey wasn't sure how to respond.

"_Öyleyim herhalde_." (I suppose I am.) He finally settled on a response. Ilayda suddenly growled, drew back her foot, and kicked Turkey square in the shin.

"_Seni piç! Eğer anne bıraktı_!" (You bastard! You left mom!) Laura made a face and traded a glance with an equally shocked Alphonse. Not how they expected this meeting to go...

* * *

Nathan was bored. Really bored. Like, counting the speckles on the hotel ceiling, bored.

The young man sighed in frustration and dropped his arm. Why did he have to stay in the room? Sure, the Russian Mafia was out for his blood, but would it really hurt so much just to go to the hotel arcade? Just for an hour or three? They had wide-screen Galaga in there! Nathan sat up on the springy mattress and ran his fingers through his hair with a bored sigh. The frowned. Squinted.

"Where are my…" His hand groped around the bed for a minute before straying to the pillow. "Aha!" Nathan triumphantly raised his glasses and slid them back on his face. "Much better." He swung his legs off the bed. "Hey dad? Can I go down to the hotel arcade?" He shouted into the other room of the suite.

"Absolutely not!" Was the reply. Nathan groaned dramatically.

"But whyyyyyy?" He whined. "It's only one floor down…"

"No means no!" America insisted. "There could be Bratva members down there! Hiding in the Claw Machine!" Nathan blinked.

"…..if they could get in an out of a Claw Machine, then we'd have been royally screwed weeks ago." He sighed and flopped back on the bed. "But in all seriousness: Daaaad! I'm bored as hell!" He whined. America walked into the bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed, leaning over the stretched out Nathan.

"What're you talking about? There's plenty to do in here!" He argued. Nathan gave his father a flat look.

"I've already tried people-watching, jumping on the beds, called the front desk to chat until they just hung up on me, and run through eighty of ninety things to do in an elevator." Nathan sighed. "I'm no longer welcome in the second shaft elevator, and I'm utterly. Completely. Undeniably. BORED." He looked up at America for a response.

"….only eighty of ninety?" Alfred blinked. Nathan growled.

"Daaad! That's not the point!" He whined. Alfred laughed and ruffled Nathan's hair.

"Don't worry, Nattie! I'm the Hero! I came prepared!" He leapt up and rushed back into the other room. Nathan sat up curiously.

"Prepared with what?" He asked. America came back into the room and presented several DVD cases with a flair.

"Tadaaa!" He grinned. "Saw I, Saw II, Saw III, Hostel 1, Grudge 1, Grudge 2 AND the entire Friday the Thirteenth series!" America tossed the cases on the bed. "We cam make popcorn and drink soda and eat junk food and turn out all the lights! It'll be some epic father-son bonding!" Nathan picked up the case for Saw II, flipping it over to read the back.

"…sweet!" He grinned widely. "I've been waiting for an excuse to watch these! Laura and Svetlana wouldn't let me, for some reason."

"Well, that sucks." America grinned and slung an arm around Nathan's shoulders. "But they're not here now!" He giggled. "I'll set up the movies-" America started.

"And I'll get the popcorn!" Nathan finished, now wearing a grin to match his father's. The younger man scurried to the kitchen area as America began cracking open the cases, setting them up in front of the TV and choosing one to start. Nathan returned a few minutes later with a large bowl of buttery, salty popcorn, and America darted around the room, shutting off all the lights and hopping onto the bed with his son as the first movie, Saw I, began to play…

Unknown hours and countless horror movies later, Nathan and America were clinging to each other like limpets, hiding under a shared hotel comforter, with the popcorn bowl empty and abandoned on the floor.

"D-don't go off on your own!" America whimpered at the screen. "The killer's hiding in the cabbage patch!" Nathan whined and sank down in the comforter up to his nose.

"Stupid cheerleader…" He whined. "Just take off your six-inch heels and RUN!" He buried his face in his father's jacket. "Why'd you even WEAR heels to a freaking' farm?" In the movie, the killer attacked, with a burst of frightening music, flashing colors, and a piercing scream. This prompted America to scream. THIS prompted Nathan to scream. Somewhere on the floor below them, some poor soul was frightened out of bed by the sudden screams.

A few minutes later, America chanced a peek out of the comforter to see the credits rolling. He popped up, grinning. "Wow! What a thrill!" He grinned as Nathan sat up, straightening his glasses.

"Was that the last one?" He asked. Alfred nodded.

"Yep. I can't believe we got through all of them in one night!" He laughed.

KNOCK.

Both father and son froze, smilies vanishing. "….wh-what was that…?" Nathan whispered.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

Both men yelped and dove onto the floor between the beds, dragging the comforter and a few pillows with them. America was the first to peer around the bed at the room's door. "….hello?"

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. The Nation squeaked and dropped back down.

"Nathan Cameron, open up!" A female voice growled. Nathan popped up.

"Laura?" He crossed the room and opened the door just a tad. "Laura!" Nathan threw the door open immediately. "Hi! What're you-OW!" He yelped as the chain, which had been locked for the night, was torn free of its mounting, snapped back, and whacked him across the face. Laura sighed heavily as she caught the door, to keep it from banging against the opposite wall.

"Once again, proving you're your father's son, aye?" She shook her head. Nathan poked at the fresh cut on his face to avoid looking at Laura.

"…I'm gonna go find a band-aid…" He muttered, turning to head for the bathroom.

"You do that." Laura stepped into the room and closed the door behind her, using the lock on the handle this time. She glanced into the bedroom, where America was disentangling himself from the comforter. "I don't suppose you have an explanation for all that screaming?" She drawled.

"Oh, we were just watching some horror movies!" America grinned. "It was great family bonding!" Laura sighed heavily.

"I'm sure it was…" She frowned. "Look, just pack up and start getting ready to check out. You, Nathan, Alphonse, Me, and our parents and assorted siblings have to be gone by 12:00pm." America stopped.

"Wait….what time is it?" He asked. Laura gave him a strange look.

"…..8:42am." She replied after a quick glance to the nightstand clock. "Am I to assume you two were up all night watching horror movies?" She asked incredulously as Nathan walked back in, sporting a large band-aid on his cheek and nose.

"Seems that way." The young man grinned. "But man, it was a helluva night, wasn't it, dad?" America laughed.

"Totally! We ran through so many bags of popcorn!" He recalled. Laura sighed heavily and turned to leave.

"Just be packed and out by noon." She unlocked the door and stepped outside. "Or perhaps earlier. I don't think the Marriott will take too kindly to Nathan ripping the lock off the door." She advised before closing said door and walking away, shaking her head. America looked at Nathan. The young man shrugged.

"In my defense, I had no idea that would happen."

* * *

Alrighty...I can't take this anymore. Seriously. Too many canon and OC characters all at once. My brain is melting and I need to smooth everything out to keep the plot steady. Starting now, all following chapters will focus on one Nation and "Nationling" (primarily), with others just appearing. Since they are all spreading out over the world, most having met, there's no reason to follow four different stories at once. That would make my brain explode, and my landlady doesn't want to clean brain matter from my spackle ceiling.

1) **FantasyName** - I hope you can stand my badly translated German for one more chapter. I'm advertising, here and now, for people to help me with the language translations besides English and Spanish (six years, and writing it is all I can do).

2) **LuckyNumbers** - Technically, Ilayda is Turkish-Indian. BUT that will all be explained later...

3) **just another fma fan** - I sincerely hope you don't mind me borrowing some of those ideas. 8D Since the chapters will now focus on more select groups of fewer characters, you're suggestions have spawned many, many plot bunnies!


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31 - focusing mainly on England and Laura. And, QueenTutankhamun, Laura CAN see England's magical friends. XD She can possibly do magic, too...but you'll hear about that later.

* * *

Arthur Kirkland had never felt so frustrated.

Well, okay, that was a lie. There had been that one time with France and the unicorn and the game of strip poker. But that hadn't been his fault! One of Norway's trolls had crashed the 'party' and spiked the alcohol, he was sure of it! The ex-empire sighed and sank back in his chair, letting his needlework drop to his lap. It just wasn't helping relieve the tension today.

What tension one may ask? That of having an ageless daughter with the attitude of a teenager and a mind like the devil, that's what. You'd think, after four hundred years of living, the woman would be more mature! It was almost like living with Alfred 24/7, only with better English and more heavy metal music.

Actually, that wasn't so bad - most of the bands Arthur had liked in his Punk phase had rubbed off on Laura Archer, his daughter, so he didn't really mind when she played them.

But he drew the line at 2am. No sane person should even be awake at that hour! Let alone rocking out to Hundred Reasons and Muse loud enough to shake the walls.

A door slammed somewhere inside the house, and footsteps raced toward the stairs. Arthur sighed as Laura stormed down from the second floor, barefoot and fuming. She stormed past her father, wearing skinny jeans and a simple white tank top, and disappeared into the closet. Then she stormed past again, clutching a jacket.

"Where are you going?" Arthur asked, half expecting his daughter to snarl 'nowhere', leave, and come home at God knows what hour.

"Outside." Laura growled. "I'll be back in a few minutes." Well, he'd been close. "I just need to clear my head…" The Englishwoman jerked the coat on over her arms, then stalked through the house. After a few minutes, Arthur heard the back door rattle as it was slammed shut. The nation sighed again, then turned back to his needlework of a unicorn.

Half an hour later, Laura had still not come back. Not that Arthur was worried or anything, but he set aside his needlework and headed toward the back door to check on her. This exit opened out into a small walled garden, and more than once, Laura had used it to escape into the nearby town of Bristol. She seemed to love the place - noticeably more than any other. Arthur had one hand on the doorknob before he heard a voice.

"Really? He did that?" Arthur heard Laura laugh. "Bloody hell, I had no idea the man was such a rocker!" She giggled. "Oh, Uni, you must tell me more!" Arthur froze. Uni? Laura was talking….to Uni? She…she could see the unicorn? "No way….!" Laura gasped. "Oh, don't say that! He might hear you." Arthur heard a familiar whinny mixed in with his daughter's laugh. Deciding that this fact couldn't wait to be confronted, Arthur turned the doorknob, opened the door, and poked his head out.

"Laura…" Nope. He hadn't been hallucinating. Laura was sitting on the porch railing, leaning back against the corner pillar, and talking to Uni the Unicorn, who, caught red-hooved munching on Arthur's favorite bushes, quickly swallowed. Arthur smiled gently. "You can see Fae too, then?" Laura relaxed just a slight and nodded.

"Aye…ever since I was little." She shook her head. "Ally always thought I was just talking to myself." Arthur chuckled and came to join his daughter at the railing.

"Yes, Alfred still thinks that of me." He sighed. He closed the door and sat down on the porch steps. "So…you didn't tell me about this because…?" He asked. Laura shrugged.

"Didn't know you could see 'em, too." She replied. "Didn't want you to think I was barmy or something." She admitted. England snorted.

"I'm a bloody personified country and you're my four hundred year old daughter." He pointed out flatly, smirking a little. "I'd have to be a little barmy myself to call you that." Laura smiled a little and giggled. As father and daughter continued to talk, this time without the tense aura thad seemed to have settled on the house as of late, Uni the unicorn backed away and disappeared.

But not without taking a mouthful of Arthur's beloved bushes with him.

* * *

A few days later, Arthur was realizing that having a daughter wasn't all that bad.

For one, she was a very knowledgable woman, with fantastic credentials in the academic world, and connections just about everywhere else. She had numerous inside stories to tell about some of England's greatest minds - and a few of France's, too. These, Arthur remembered to use as blackmail at a later date.

On top of this, Laura was a very strong deterrent against door-to-door telemarketers. When Arthur answered the door, he was always trapped for ten to twenty minutes before he could make up a good excuse. Whenever Laura answered the door, the telemarketers all apologized and hurried away.

Who knew a few clashing highlights, strategically placed temporary tattoos (at least, he hoped they were temporary), some plastic fangs and fake blood could be so effective?Of course, as soon as the doors were closed, the latter two were removed, and Laura would walk away, cackling in amusement. She had quite the odd sense of humor…

On occasion, France would visit, and bring his sons with him. Sometimes Benoit, and sometimes Alphonse, sometimes both. Despite them being children of the perverted frog-spawn, Arthur found their company rather enjoyable. Alphonse had all the manners Laura didn't, just as she contained all the confidence and spontaneity Alphonse seemed to be lacking.

With Alphonse around, Laura was calmer - Arthur thought - and not so 'explosive'. As much as he balked at the idea of being related to Francis - of all people! - Arthur couldn't deny the way his daughter looked at his rival's eldest son.

Arthur also noticed that, as of late, Francis had been refraining from many of his usual lewd jokes and jabs. Well, it was still a very touchy subject around Alphonse….and Arthur had to admit…he was a little jealous of the effort Francis had put into bonding with his sons.

Not that he hadn't been trying! It was just harder to connect to a strong-willed, bull-headed, opinionated woman with the rebellious streak of a teenager than it was to an emotionally scared man who only wanted a father's love and a child who adored every move his father made!

….alright, he took that back. That just sounded mean. Even for him.

Arthur sighed quietly and sat back on the couch, placing his finished book on the coffee table. He really hadn't been putting in any effort to 'bond' with Laura, had he? They'd just been living together for three months - more like room mates on vacation than father and daughter. Well, alright. Laura wasn't exactly taking a vacation…

Just a few hours ago, she'd washed the dye out of her hair, taken out all of her piercings, toned down her make up, and put on business attire to hold a lecture back at Oxford live, via webcam. It had been a bit of a shock for Arthur to see his daughter in a suit, after her vivid first-impression outfit. But, she was a teacher at the famed institute - and he couldn't say she didn't look the part.

Left alone in the living room while his daughter conducted her lecture, Arthur began to think. There had to be some way he could connect with Laura…..wait….that was it! A familiar smirk that Arthur hadn't worn for decades crossed his face, as he recalled exactly where he'd stored his arsenal of punk-rock attire. He had the perfect idea for some father-daughter bonding...

* * *

Alright...this is a shorter chapter, but I'm trying something new, and didn't want to stretch it too far...hope you all enjoy! If you have any comments, please tell me!


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter 32. I'm trying something new - using later chapters to recount events of this chapter. Tell me if it works, or if it's too confusing, alright?

* * *

Nathan wasn't much of a country boy.

Sure, he enjoyed the peace and the quiet, and since he didn't sleep all that much these days, the sunsets he got to see were fantastic. But, ever since the nineteen fifties, the city had been his home. It hadn't always treated him well, but he was used to the breakneck pace of life among the skyscrapers. Beyond the reach of the pulsing metropolis, though, life seemed to move at a snail's pace.

Nathan leaned against the railing of the porch of his father's Virginia countryside home. Here and there, patches of color dotted the greening landscape, and as March wore on, more flowers would bloom. Nathan smiled softly. It really was beautiful out here. He hadn't been out of the steel-and-concrete jungle in years, and he'd forgotten how relaxing this kind of view could be.

He drummed his fingers against the wooden railing in thought. His father, America, had gone back to Washington D.C., to pick up some paperwork from his capitol that he needed to finish that month. Nathan was all alone at the large countryside house. All alone with a 72" wall mounted TV, three different gaming consoles, a closet full of games, and a pantry full of junk food.

…..

Oh YES.

Nathan walked back into the house, grinning and rubbing his hands together. "Well, he told me to keep myself entertained…" He mused aloud on his father's instructions upon leaving the house that morning. He sulked a little. "And since Svetlana went back to Russia, what else is there…?" A quickly-made bag of popcorn soon cheered him up, as it was mixed with other unhealthy snacks in a large plastic bowl. Nathan happily flopped on the couch, twirling the TV remote and munching a mouthful of snacks. This was gonna be GOOD.

Rrrring! Rrrrring!

Nathan groaned, but put down the bowl and remote and ran across the open-area kitchen to answer the phone. He caught it on the third ring and picked it up. "Hello! Jones residence!"

"…" There was no speaker. Nathan blinked, then hesitantly spoke again.

"Um…hello…? Sir? Ma'am? It?"

CLICK.

"…" Nathan dropped the phone back in the cradle, sufficiently creeped out. "O-….kay…..that was weird…." He frowned. He backed away from the phone and turned back to the living room, but a sharp ring interrupted him. With a growl of annoyance, Nathan spun around and snatched up the phone. "What?"

"Nathan Cameron." Nathan froze. He knew that voice. It had been years since he'd done something stupid enough to hear it, but he knew it none the less.

"…L-Luka…..h-how did you get this n-number?" He stammered. The voice of Alexi Iconovitch's right-hand man chuckled deeply.

"Do not underestimate our power, boy." Luka abruptly hung up. Nathan slowly lowered the phone back to the cradle. His hand shook for a moment, and he suddenly snatched the phone up again, hurriedly dialing a number. His fingers drummed anxiously on the countertop as the phone rang once. Twice. Three times. Four times.

"Hi! You've reached the Hero, Alfred F. Jones! Sorry I missed you- " Nathan cursed. "-but leave a message and I'll call you back! 'Cause I'm the Hero!"

Beeeep.

"Dad!" Nathan gasped as soon as the recording started. "They found me. I-I know you're in D.C. today, but…c-can you call me back? Really, really quickly? And no, I'm not being paranoid…" He didn't hear a door open and close quietly several rooms away. "…just please call back. Or better yet, come back. Really, really fast….." Nathan's voice trailed off into silence as a long, cold blade slid up beneath his chin.

"That is quite enough." Whispered Luka Vanko with a smile as he pressed the blade against the young American's throat. "Say bye-bye, now."

"….b-bye, Dad…." Nathan managed to choke out. Luka took the phone from his hand and dropped it firmly in the cradle.

"Good boy." He smiled darkly and pushed Nathan toward the living room. "Now move."

* * *

Twelve hours later, America finally returned home. He shuffled into the house, slamming the door behind him. "Nathan! I'm back!" He shouted as he dropped his bag - full to bursting with paperwork he'd been neglecting for the past few months - to the floor. America frowned when he didn't receive an answer from his son. "….Nathan?" America walked into the kitchen and looked around.

There was a small note taped to the fridge, but when he read it, it didn't sound like Nathan at all. The handwriting was all wrong, and he'd left out just about every 'a', and 'the' possible. Wait….hadn't he missed a phone call from Nathan earlier?

America quickly fished in his pocket for his cell phone and checked the call log. There was one missed call from "Virginia Home". Whoops. He quickly dialed voicemail to listen to the message.

"_Dad! They found me._" The sheer panic in his son's voice was enough for America to make the connection as to who "they" were. "_I-I know you're in D.C. today, but…c-can you call me back? Really, really quickly? And no, I'm not being paranoid…just please call back. Or better yet, come back. Really, really fast_…." Nathan's voice dropped away much to fast to be casual.

"_That is quite enough_," America heard another voice whisper in the background. "_Say bye-bye, now_."

"…_b-bye, Dad_…" The message ended, and America very nearly crushed his cell phone. Voicemail was asking if he wanted to delete the message, but America ignored it and dialed a new number. Unfortunately, England didn't pick up his phone. Frustrated, America left him a message explaining the situation and hung up. There had to be someone else he could call….but who?

Canada? No….he'd gone with his son Wyatt to finish that "Canadian Ninja" tour of North America thing. France? Nope. He was back in Paris with both of his sons. Besides, he wouldn't be much help in this situation, anyway. Germany? No….he and Italy had gone back to Germany to meet that Markus person, hadn't they? Crap…who was there?

Turkey? Greece? Japan? All three were still in America…..though, mainly because Turkey refused to believe Ilayda was his daughter and refused to fly home with her until proof was given. Greece was just hanging around to watch Ilayda kick Turkey's shins, and Japan was struggling to keep the peace. That left…

Awww, fudge. That left Russia.

Technically, the towering nation had gone back home a month ago, with his daughter Svetlana. But…he would know the most about the Bratva ('cause America had no doubt that's who took Nathan), and America had no leads of his own to follow. The world superpower groaned as he started dialing the number. He couldn't be slowed down by grudges (against crazy, psychotic communist nations) now - Nathan's life may depend on it. He waited impatiently as the phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times. Damnit, didn't anyone pick up their phones anymore?

"_Hallo_?" Finally! America sighed.

"Russia." He started flatly. "How fast can you get to D.C. again?"

* * *

He couldn't feel his left arm; that was the first thought to cross his mind as he came back to consciousness. His body was cold, but his right side felt warm. It was also touching something soft . He wanted to open his eyes, but it was as if they were weighed down. A hand touched his face - not the same one that had bruised, torn and burned his skin - and he thought he heard a voice whisper his name. A familiar voice.

"….d-…dad…..?" He asked around a cotton tongue. He slowly became aware of an arm wrapped around his shoulders, supporting his limp body and raising it from the cold concrete floor onto a warm lap. The hand patted his hair gingerly.

"…-athan…" America's voice started out distant, but slowly seemed to gain strength. Once it reached a normal volume, Nathan food the strength to open his eyes. America was leaning over him, and a relieved smile of gargantuan proportion broke over his face as soon as he realized his son was awake. "Nathan! Oh, thank God!" He gingerly hugged the limp 'nationling', consciously controlling his strength to avoid aggravating any of the boy's injuries.

"…the hell 'append…?" Nathan asked when his father pulled away. America's smile slipped a little.

"You….don't remember?" He asked. Nathan gingerly shook his head. For a minute, America debated telling his son the truth. But the minute passed quickly, and he just smiled softly. " It's….not important." He eased Nathan into a sitting position, and rested the young man against his chest, tilting Nathan's head back on his shoulder. "I'll tell you later, okay…?" Nathan nodded quietly.

"….hey dad…?" He spoke up quietly. America glanced down.

"Yeah Nathan?"

"I lost my glasses again…maybe I should try contacts."

"….." America started to laugh softly. The sound was a mixture of amusement, relief, and just general 'thank-GOD-this-is-over-and-your-okay'. "Nah," He smiled, pressing his forehead to Nathan's gently. "We'll get you a new pair when we get home…alright?" Nathan managed a weak smile, despite the pain this caused - Why? He wasn't sure, it felt like his jaw was on fire - and nodded. America let out a quiet sound and gently stroked Nathan's bloody, matted hair.

"Paramedics are on their way, okay?" The nation promised. "I called a few minutes ago….we're on a farm in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. Apparently, one of the Bratva minions owned it." Nathan frowned as best he could.

"S-so it was the Bratva…?" He asked. America nodded. "Ah….l-least this isn't 'cause I did….something stupid…r-right?" America laughed.

"Right...not this time…" He sighed.

* * *

Bringing the Bratva back again...because even I need to remember that we have a plot in place here. -_-


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter 33, and still trying something new! Hope you enjoy!

* * *

The few times America had ever called Russia had been prank calls and angry insults about some accidental satellite crash or threat of a missile launch. So when America called Russia and flat out asked him or help, Russia very nearly dropped the phone.

"Why do I need to come back to D.C.?" Russia asked, purposefully keeping his voice low. Lithuaina was in the kitchen preparing dinner with his son Danukas, whom Russia could hear chattering away even from the front hall, and Ukraine, Belarus and Svetlana were in the living room, talking about…whatever girls talked about. Russia didn't know. He'd left the room at 'female topics'.

"_Because the Bratva took Nathan_." America replied. A darker part of Russia chuckled at the degree of unrestrained panic in the other nation's voice.

"Oh, you lost your son? That's not good parenting." Russia mused, trying not to sound so amused.

"_Shut up, bastard_." America snarled. "_You want the Bratva, don't you_?"

"Only Alexi." Russia replied. "The other members are nobodies - without Alexi, they will fall."

"_Alright then, let me rephrase_," America growled. "Alexi took Nathan. Get your ass over here and help me find him!" Russia paused, humming thoughtfully.

"Why did you not call England instead of me?" America snorted.

"_Don't flatter yourself, commie."_ He growled. "_I called him first. Stupid git must've let his battery die - he didn't pick up_."

"Git?" Russia repeated, giggling. "He is rubbing off on you, da?"

"_Shut up_!" America yelled. Russia had to hold the phone away from his ear for a moment. "_What would you be doing if it were Svetlana missing_?" Russia didn't answer. "_That's what I thought_." America growled. "_This isn't about our stupid grudges. Get the next flight you can. I'll meet you at the airport_." Russia hung up the phone and stood in silence for several minutes. Then, he walked into the kitchen.

"Lithuania, I will not be joining you for dinner. Please set aside a plate for me." He ordered. Lithuania blinked.

"Y-yes, sir, Mr. Russia….but, where are you going?" Russia turned and left the kitchen.

"America." Danukas waited until the door had closed before he looked at his father with a raised eyebrow.

"Like, is he always like that? What a flake."

* * *

Russia moved no further past the stall door - there was no need for him to be in there. America was already with his son, cradling the limp, whimpering form with more care than Russia had ever seen the young superpower use. America had already called for paramedics, but since they were so far from a dispatch station, it would be a while before they arrived. They might not have that much time.

Nathan's injuries were very grievous. He had been very badly beaten, and his shirt hung in tattered shreds off his shoulders. Russia could almost see the whip marks that scored the skin of his back, beneath the blood. Nathan's jeans were stained with blood from several stab wounds and slashes, most notably two behind his knees, where tendons had been cut so he couldn't walk. His skin was more purple than white, now, and his face was a mashed-up mess of blood, torn skin and bruises.

Beneath his left eye, and below his throat on his right collar bone, there was a mark burned into the skin - the Russian letter "A" for "Alexi". Nathan was bleeding so much from his face and internal injuries that he was having trouble breathing, and Russia could see no trace of emotional restraint on America's face as he held his son close. Nathan choked and tried to speak, and Russia was suddenly very glad he'd left Svetlana back at home with his sisters and the Baltics.

"What?" America asked, gently brushing back some of Nathan's bloody, matted hair from his face. "I didn't catch that…"

"….am I dying…..?" Nathan whimpered, looking up at his father with fearful blue eyes. Suddenly, he wasn't a 59 year old 'nationling' - he was a little boy again, frightened and wanting his father to make everything okay. America couldn't answer for a full minute, as his own throat had constricted in fear at the thought. But there wasn't any other way he could answer.

"Yes…" He finally choked out. "Y-yeah, Nattie…..y-you're dying…" America held his son a little tighter, biting his lip to keep from crying. "…paramedics won't get here fast enough…" Nathan whimpered weakly.

"….wh-what's….gonna happen…?" He asked quietly, as if afraid of the answer. America took a shaky breath.

"W-well…either you'll…g-go to sleep…..and wake up…a-and everything will be fine…" He paused.

"…o-or…?" Nathan pressed.

"…you'll just….go to sleep…." America finished after a moment. Russia felt just the slightest bit embarrassed for witnessing this intimate moment between father and son, but moving now would only ruin the moment, so he remained where he was, silently watching. America held his son close as Nathan started to struggle for every breath. "It'll be okay…" He whispered, in a voice that sounded more like it was trying to convince its speaker than the one it was speaking to. "Everything will be okay…."

The room fell into an erie silence as Nathan stopped breathing. America seemed to be holding his own breath as he watched his son for any sign of life. Five minutes passed. Then ten. Then twenty. America let out a whimper so bare that Russia nearly left right then to avoid seeing any further into his rival's soul at such a vulnerable moment (twenty years ago, he would have jumped at the chance, but these circumstances were different).

"Come on, Nathan…" America pleaded, lifting his son's limp body off the floor and holding it to his chest desperately. "Please, wake up Nathan…"

"….d-….dad….?" Russia had never seen such joy flood America's face all at once.

"Nathan! Oh, thank God!" He pulled his son into a hug that was maybe just a little too tight. Nathan looked mildly confused.

"…the hell 'append?" He asked. America pulled back, a look of confusion mixing with his joy.

"You….don't remember?" He asked. Nathan gingerly shook his head. Russia watched America debate telling his son the truth for a moment, and then he watched that moment pass. "It's…not important. I'll tell you later, okay?"

Russia turned away, now, and walked out of the barn. The paramedics would arrive soon, and Nathan would be fine. The Bratva members who had been on the property were all incapacitated (or dead, he didn't care) and ready for pick-up by authorities. Luka Vanko, a well-known assassin from Russia, was nowhere to be seen, however - either among the dead or the captive.

"Hey you." Russia looked over at the one responsible for most of the dead. "You look disturbed. Witness a father-son thing?" He guessed. Russia narrowed his eyes.

"You are as annoying as your father." Konrad Frederick laughed.

"I take that as a compliment, you know." He pulled out the clip of his semi-automatic and started to refill it. "I take it the kid is fine?" Russia nodded. "Good." Konrad clicked the clip back into place. "Laura would kill me if I flew all the way back here and didn't obey her wishes."

"How did you get back so fast?" Russia asked. To get back to America in time, he had pulled many favors that one builds up as a nation. He wouldn't be able to get home as fast, and would have a lot of explaining to do to his boss, but returning with Alexi in tow should do some good. "Weren't you in Berlin with Kaliningrad?"

"You know, he told me to shoot you if you called him that." Konrad mused, checking the sights on his gun. "But that would do no good, would it?" He smirked and slipped the gun back into its holster. "Let's just say…I have people who owe me. A LOT. They were very glad to help me out in a time of need, in turn for some of this favors 'disappearing'."

"Ah. Very devious." Russia noted. Konrad shrugged. "I don't suppose you know where Luka went?"

"Luka?" Konrad put on an obviously fake look of innocence. "Who is this Luka you speak of? Surely not the bastard who thought he could oust me?" A smirk crept into the innocent look, ruining it. "Hmm. No idea. Perhaps he fell down a well with a few dozen bullets in his head."

"….you did not like him." Russia mused.

"No. No I did not." Konrad replied, pulling out a smaller handgun from another holster and checking its clip.

"You two had history, da?" Russia asked. Konrad paused.

"It would be 'history' now, wouldn't it?" He commented casually. "I do not feel like sharing right now, but take that as a yes." Russia tilted his head.

"I will ask later, da?" He asked. Konrad shrugged.

"I probably won't tell you then, either, but whatever pleases you, ja."

* * *

Two segments, but a bit of a flashback to the unmentioned events of Ch. 32. More still to come. Guest-staring Konrad and the first appearance of Danukas! Who...personality-wise...is the love-child of Liet and Poland. Because I ship them, so there. Xp.

1) **SunflowerKolKolKol** and **Alexilaihorox **- No, his arm's not gone, yes, Nathan'll be okay, and Yay! XD I was just experimenting with the fact that the Nations and 'nationlings' don't really know if they can die and come back, like their parents, or if they'd just die. Hope this chapter explains some!


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter 34! Sorry it took me such a long time - College Math is really kicking me in the *blocked by Canada's NOTICE ME sign*. Which reminds me, I need to start writing more Canadians.

* * *

Konrad hated his sister.

Not Katja - _Gott, nein_ - Katja was his favorite out of his other four siblings. His younger brothers, the twins Gregor and Klaus, were right below the little girl on the albino's list, as crazy as they were.

And come on - you had to have a few screws loose somewhere if your idea of a good career involved skydiving, bungee jumping, free falling off buildings into massive airbags, and fighting with real swords (with death prevented by the mere self-control of your opponent).

Though, now that Konrad had actually seen some of his brothers' work, he couldn't say he wasn't impressed.

His other sister, however, was at the very bottom of Konrad's list of favorite people - even further down than Luka Vanko, a fellow mercenary who continuously belittled Konrad's skills in the assassian's circle. The only reason he wasn't dead yet was professional courtesy (which was a thread that Luka was wearing quite thin). Johanna Fritz, an up-and-coming pop star on the international circuit, was a self-absorbed, airheaded, manipulative brat who'd been given life on a silver platter.

That was all in her older brother's opinion, of course.

In Konrad's eyes, Johanna had no redeeming qualities - he considered all the charities she (a.k.a.: her manager) donated to as media fodder. Nothing but an excuse to smile for the press and build up a good reputation to hide behind. Konrad really, really, REALLY hated Johanna.

Unfortunately, Katja did not.

"Auntie Johanna! Auntie Johanna!" The little girl came running across the backyard, laughing and clutching something in both hands. "Lookie, look!" She held up her find. "I found a bug!" Johana cringed back a little, but put on a plastic smile.

"Oh! How….interesting!" She gingerly closed Katja's hands around the cricket. "Why don't you go and show Papa?"

"Okay!" Katja ran off, giggling. "Papa Prussia! Look, look! I found a bug!" As soon as the little girl was out of sight, Johanna groaned and returned to her laptop settled on her miniskirt-clad lap.

"Ooh, so cold." Johanna rolled her eyes dramatically at Konrad, who was leaning against the side of the porch. "You'r just lucky Katja thinks you're a saint."

"Oh please." Johanna flipped a hand. "You know I hate bugs." Konrad snickered.

"And that's why I gave it to her." He cackled. Johanna narrowed her eyes.

"Uncivilized murderer." She growled. Her brother snorted.

"Self-absorbed bitch." Konrad shot back. Johanna picked up her laptop, stood up, and walked away stiffly. The albino growled and jumped down the steps, sulkily following his sister around the house. Out in the front yard, Klaus and Gregor were rehearsing one of their stunts, using rattan sticks, with Prussia and Katja as an audience.

Though, their father was more entertained by the cricket his youngest daughter had found. Johanna had settled on the front porch swing, absorbed back into her digital world of tabloid stories and the international pop scene. Konrad walked over and sat beside his sister and father.

"Kesesesese! It's huge!" Prussia was laughing.

"I know!" Katja giggled. "I chased it all over Uncle Ludwig's garden!" The cricket chose this moment to excursive it's legs and leapt out of Katja's hand. The little girl shrieked.

"My cricket is getting away!" She jumped up after it. Prussia followed suit.

"Oh no it's not!"

"Get it, daddy!" Gregor and Klaus both had to stop as their father and youngest sister raced between them, chasing the wayward cricket. Klaus chuckled, wiping sweat off his forehead with one arm.

"That looks like fun." He looked at his twin. "We have practiced enough, ja?" Gregor nodded.

"Ja. We've practiced enough." The twins dropped their rattan sticks and rushed off after the cricket-chasers. Konrad laughed.

"Aren't you going to join the fun, Jo'?" He asked. His sister growled.

"It's Johanna." She hissed. "And you call that fun?" Konrad smirked,

"It annoys you, doesn't it?" He cackled. Johanna glowered at the albino and turned back to her laptop as Konrad's cell phone rang. The man pulled it out of his pocket and checked the caller ID. "Laura?" He shrugged and flipped it open. "_Guten tag_, Laura. What is up?" He asked, walking away from the porch.

Only a few steps away, Konrad stopped again. "_Was_?" He listened. "Ouch….poor kid…wait, why do I have to-" He stopped. "…..Luka did it?" He repeated. "Luka Vanko?" Konrad's eyes narrowed. "I'll call in some favors." He snapped the phone shut and looked back. No-one had noticed the phone call, so he decided to take his leave while he was unnoticed.

"Hey…." Prussia spoke up a few minutes later. "Where did Konrad go?" Katja also stopped and looked around, cricket forgotten.

"…oh, brother does that sometimes, 'cause he's a ninja." She nodded sagely. "He'll be back soon."

* * *

Konrad flattened himself against the rotting wood of the Lancaster barn and pulled a handgun from a holster on his hip. He's already 'cleared' several Bratva members from the area, with a little help from America and Russia. Honestly, Konrad was glad to be in a different area from the two - Russia, on his own, was a scary bastard.

America, though normally kinda nice (if not naive) had turned into a terrifying, Bratva-felling machine in the space of a few hours. Konrad was honestly unnerved by the change, and almost felt sorry for the bastards ordered to 'interrogate' the Amereican's unfortunate son.

Keyword: almost.

The assassin edged around the corner and raised his gun. Two quick pops, and the mob members dropped, killed without feeling a thing, or ever seeing their killer. Konrad stepped over their bodies, ignoring the blood that got on his boots, and moved on. Honestly, he'd love to some looting - these guys weren't going to be using their stuff anymore, anyway.

But there was no time for that now. He had a job to do, and people to kill - looting could wait. As he rounded another corner, Konrad spotted a familiar figure sneaking out from behind a silo. He grinned.

"_Guten tag_, Luka." He grinned. "I believe you and I have some….issues to work out…" Luka paused for all of a minute, before he took off running. Konrad giggled before giving chase. "I love my job."

A while later, Konrad was leaning a low stone wall outside the barn, meticulously cleaning blood off his beloved weapons. They'd gotten a lot of use in the last few hours, and he was so proud - not a single one had jammed! He looked up as Russia exited the stable where Nathan had been found, looking just a tad more disturbed then usual. "Hey you," Konrad called. "You look disturbed." He chuckled dryly. "Witness a father-son thing?" Russia narrowed his eyes.

"You are as annoying as your father." He commented. Konrad just laughed.

"I take that as a compliment, you know." He pulled out the clip of his semi-automatic and started to refill it. "I take it the kid is fine?" Russia nodded. "Good." Konrad clicked the clip back into place. "Laura would kill me if I flew all the way back here and didn't obey her wishes."

"How did you get back so fast?" Russia asked. Konrad paused. He'd had to call up a lot of 'old friends' and dredge up some not-so-fond memories, mixed in with a little blackmailing for good measure. "Weren't you in Berlin with Kaliningrad?" Konrad froze.

"You know, he told me to shoot you if you called him that." Konrad mused, checking the sights on his gun. "But that would do no good, would it?" He smirked and slipped the gun back into its holster. "Let's just say…I have people who owe me. A LOT. They were very glad to help me out in a time of need, in turn for some of this favors 'disappearing'." This was half true. He'd promised to make said favors 'disappear'. He'd lied, though. It was much too fun to hold it over their heads.

"Ah. Very devious." Russia noted. Konrad shrugged. "I don't suppose you know where Luka went?"

"Luka?" Konrad put on an obviously fake look of innocence. "Who is this Luka you speak of? Surely not the bastard who thought he could oust me?" A smirk crept into the innocent look, ruining it. "Hmm. No idea. Perhaps he fell down a well with a few dozen bullets in his head."

"….you did not like him." Russia mused.

"No. No I did not." Konrad replied, pulling out a smaller handgun from another holster and checking its clip.

"You two had history, da?" Russia asked. Konrad paused.

"It would be 'history' now, wouldn't it?" He commented casually. "I do not feel like sharing right now, but take that as a yes." Russia tilted his head.

"I will ask later, da?" He asked. Konrad shrugged.

"I probably won't tell you then, either, but whatever pleases you, ja."

* * *

Yes, I will admit that the ending repeats, but it's all flashing back to the same event - repetition will occur. People asked for Prussia and kid(s) bonding time, and here you go - not much, but we're still following a plot, here. Once the Bratva storyline is all wrapped up, you can have all the Prussians you want! ^_^ Also, a question for all you reviewers: How would you feel about a "Children of the Nations" forum? Or, at least, a few "CotN" topics on a Hetalia forum? There is a poll up on my profile, but feel free to leave your opinion in a review or PM. Until next time!


	35. Chapter 35

Chapter 35~ Don't worry, we'll get back to England, Laura, Germany, Italy and Markus, etc. Just not now. XD We still have a plot to work, here...

* * *

The ceiling didn't look at all familiar.

Nathan stared up at it for a record-breaking ten minutes before he registered what should have been a second-nature type setting. A hospital. He felt cold, but he either couldn't feel his limbs, or couldn't move them.

He wasn't entirely sure.

Nathan tilted his head as far as he could to one side, until a bandage taped to his face contacted the pillow and stopped him. Everything seemed…weird and surreal. Like, he could see it, but if he tried to touch it (if he could move) it would dissolve or something.

Nathan tried to turn his head again, but gravity was against him this time, and a sharp twinge in his neck, at the base of his skull, stopped him short. This twinge triggered a headache, and Nathan squeezed his eyes shut. When this only made the pain worse, he opened his eyes and groaned.

"What the hell…." He muttered sloppily. Even his jaw hurt, now…

"Nathan?" Another familiar sight entered his field of view. America smiled in relief. "Thank God you're awake….you gave the paramedics a real scare." He chuckled, trying to hide the fact that he'd been scared as well. The nation pulled up a chair beside the hospital bed and sat down. "…..so….how do you feel?" He asked, feeling somewhat obligated to ask, despite talking with a nurse not twenty minutes before.

"….like I got hit by a truck…" Nathan muttered. He tried to move, and managed to get one arm up across his stomach. Even though he couldn't entirely feel the limb, the added weight ensured its existence, and gave the young man a much-needed change…however small. "…everything hurts…." America smiled gently.

"The morphine must've worn off." He replied. "The nurses say you're due for another one in twenty minutes. That should take the edge off." He patted his son's hair gently. "You're recovering pretty fast…by the time paramedics arrived, you looked way better, and I can take you home in a day or two." Nathan blinked slowly, just now realizing why everything looked so fuzzy.

"…..where're my glasses….?" He asked. America chuckled.

"Somewhere in a field in Pennsylvania…" He replied. "They were missing when we found you…." He trailed off. "…like I said, I'll get you a new pair, 'kay?" He smiled at his son, whose grip on reality seemed just a tad off right then. "And don't worry about the men who hurt you…" America's smirk seemed a few shades darker than usual then. "We took care of them, Russia and I. And Konrad. He helped too." Nathan smiled woozily.

"Ehehehh…..I thought he w's in….Berlin….?" He trailed off with a soft sigh. "God, this hurts…." America frowned.

"Don't worry…the nurse should be in any second." Not a minute later, the door opened to admit the nurse with a dosage of morphine. Nathan closed his eyes as she inserted the needle into the IV line in his hand. He really didn't want to watch that.

It felt like ice-water in his veins, at first. He could feel it spreading up his arm and shoulder, and then it warmed up. The warmth turned into a heavy tingling feeling, and the pain he felt all over quickly faded away. This left behind plenty of exhaustion - he probably shouldn't have been moving earlier - and Nathan decided not to try and reopen his eyes, letting out a quiet sigh instead.

America patted his son's hair as he drifted off again. The nurse removed the needle and capped it again. She gave America a small smile before she left, and the room lapsed into silence. The young nation sat back and stared at the figure on the hospital bed. He was covered in bandages nearly head to toe, had several stitches that, despite his increased healing ability, would probably scar…

…and that damned Russian "a" still hadn't gone away. It was burned into Nathan's skin - an ugly red brand forever mocking his failure to protect his son. America frowned. He preferred to handle problems on his own…but this problem wasn't something that effected just him. Therefore, he couldn't be the only one to deal with it. A smirk grew on the American's face. He didn't have to handle this alone. He had fifty others - at least! - who would be glad to help!

And it was about time Nathan met his half-sibling states anyway.

* * *

_"Get up." He was kicked again. "This isn't kindergarden - you don't get a recess." Nathan whimpered and tried to curl into a ball to protect his aching ribs. _

_"C-come on…" He pleaded. "I-I can get the money….h-however much Alexi wants…." His tormentor laughed, and picked up something that was leaning against the wall. _

_"How cute." They walked back over to the shivering Nationling. "But this isn't about money anymore." The cold end of an iron rod pressed against his throat, then tilted his head up. "This is about something much more…..intriguing." The person stepped closer, but Nathan still couldn't see their face in the blurry darkness. "How many others are there?"_

_"L-look…" Nathan stammered, wincing as he shifted, trying to get weight off a broken ankle. "I-I know I'm not the only one in debt, b-but-AGH!" The iron rod was whipped back and slammed against his jaw, skipping down to slam his chest and throw him to the floor._

_"Idiot child." The voice hissed. "You know that isn't what I meant." Nathan groaned, trying to fight back tears with no success. His jaw was burning and throbbing, and it was starting to hurt to breathe. The iron rod was pressed to his stomach, and someone leaned on it, driving the wind out of the poor boy. "How many others are there?"_

_"I d-…don't know….wh-what you're….t-talking about…." Nathan choked. The voice growled impatiently and withdrew the iron rod. Moments later, it was swung full-force into his side. _

_"Listen, child…" The voice suddenly switched to a much more friendly tone, circling around the crying, shaking victim. "I'm not interested in hurting you. Just answer my question truthfully, and I'll stop." The rod slid back under his chin, tilting and pinning Nathan's head to the cold ground. _

_"But lie…" The angle was decreased, and Nathan started choking. "And I'll make you wish you had died on the tracks of that freight train." The voice hissed, once again as cold and frightening as the demon it belonged to. Nathan gasped and struggled. _

_He couldn't breathe. His body ached all over, he wished he couldn't feel his legs, and he couldn't even move enough to writhe in pain. He'd suffered before, but not like this. Not ongoing pain that came and went in waves. For the first time in years, Nathan actually felt afraid for his life. Stop. Stop. Make it stop. Make it stop, make it STOP!_

_The rod was lifted off his neck at long last, and Nathan gasped for air, coughing and writhing weakly as his expanding lungs jostled broken ribs. "Now…." The voice sounded closer, as if it had crouched down to the prisoner's level. "How many other are there?"_

_"…..h-hundreds…." Nathan whimpered. The voice seemed to smile,_

_"Good boy…" A light hand mockingly patted his hair. "Now….let's get specific….."_

_

* * *

_

Nathan woke up with a sense of panic. He sat up in the hospital bed, heart racing and covered in a cold sweat. Dimly, he heard the heart monitor beside the bed beeping frantically in time with his own heart. "O-oh God…" He whimpered, the nightmare - or, as he now recalled, the memory - still fresh in his mind. "Wh-….what've I done…?"

"Nathan?" America's hand lightly touched his son's shoulder and tried to lay him back. "What are you doing? You can't be moving yet-"

"Dad, I-I'm so sorry!" Nathan spun around and smacked heads with America. Both withdrew with a yelp of pain. America dropped back in the chair, while Nathan collapsed back on the bed, unable to sit up any longer.

"Ow…" America rubbed his forehead. "Sorry for….what?" Nathan groaned, fighting unconsciousness for a moment. The adrenaline from the nightmare-memory was fading, and with it, his burst of energy.

"I….I told them…" His voice cracked and tears welled up in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Dad…." Nathan started to cry. "I'm so sorry…" America stood up, headache forgotten.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Nathan," He frowned. "You told who what?" Nathan whimpered.

"Th-the Bratva…..I….I told them about us…a-about you…..about Laura….Konrad…..Arthur….and Feliciano…" His shoulders started to shake. "Everyone…..e-even the little kids…..I d-didn't mean to….." Nathan started to cry. "I-I just wanted them to stop…"

"H-hey, easy…" America leaned in and gingerly hugged his son, trying to hold him like a paper doll that might crumble. "Easy…don't cry….it….it's okay…." Nathan shook his head weakly, outright sobbing now.

"I'm sorry…." His voice was weak, fueled by breath that was restricted by broken ribs and stabbing pains. "I didn't mean to! I….I swear….I j-….I just wanted it all to stop…." America carefully tightened his hold, just enough to make his son feel secure.

"I know…." He whispered. "I know…..it's not your fault…." He held his son until Nathan wore himself out, which didn't take long, and fell asleep once more. America wiped the last few tears off his son's face, and sat back in the chair. After several long moments of silence, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed a familiar number.

"Arthur, we have to talk."

* * *

Thank you to all the faithful readers who've stayed with me through this long chapter-drought. XD You are rewarded for your patience with some American father-son fluff and DRAMA! Also, a test topic for "Children of the Nations" has been posted on my Hetalia forum "Hetalia: RP for the World". If you are interested, please check it out!


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter 36! A little shorter than the others, focusing on England and Laura, and tying to the Bratva plot, still. I tried to aim for serious and humorous at once...not sure I got it right.

* * *

Laura had been to numerous concerts in numerous countries. Even if she couldn't understand the language, she lived for the sheer energy of the crowds. Many times, she'd dressed up in the most head-turning of costumes and get-ups to fit in at these wild, music-fueled gatherings. But never once had she expected to go with her father.

Nor had she expected him to fit the part of punk rock junkie so well.

Bright green streaks accented the ashy blonde hair that had been coaxed into a wild mass of spikes. Black and silver wrist wraps and spiked straps spiraling up slim arms, and a skintight T-shirt bearing the Sex Pistols' "Anarchy in the UK" poster design beneath a thin, loose jacket adorned with numerous chains of varying thickness.

Numerous piercings seemed to have appeared, as if from nowhere, on his ears and face, and Laura was almost certain that guitar tattoo peeking through a large tear in the shirt hadn't been there earlier that day. Or, at least, she hadn't seen it before. It's not like she actively sought out her father when he was shirtless.

And honestly, she was shocked he could still fit into those skinny jeans.

England smirked at his daughter, adopting a rebellious tilt to his hips that he hadn't used in decades.

"Keep gaping like that, lass, and you're bound to catch flies." Laura made a show of closing her mouth, giggling as she walked down the last of the steps. "Now get your arse in the car. I hate dealing with these confounded GPS things, and I haven't been to the concert arena in years. You're navigating."

"Can I drive, too?"

"Absolutely not!"

"Bugger…"

* * *

The concert was one of the best England could remember.

At least, it was one of the best that he cared to remember.

He'd successfully 'pulled rank' and gotten the perfect pair of seats, right in front of the stage, but not too close, so they could still hear the music, but still appreciate the performers as well. The volume was just right, the floor (for once) wasn't sticky, the lights weren't too bright, and the seats were rather comfortable.

Of course, the music was fantastic as well.

The concert was a mass collaboration of several different punk bands, all ranging from top to bottom on the national charts, and hailing from all over. Muse, Catch 22, Rise Against, Flogging Molly and 7 Seconds were all included. Though not all the bands contained their original members, the spirit of the music was still the same, and the concert was a complete success.

Hours later, England and Laura stumbled out of the arena. Arm and arm, both were hoarse from screaming and singing, and more than a little intoxicated from the contents of at least a dozen alcoholic drinks that were now scattered across the floor of their row. England could honestly say that this was, perhaps, one of the best nights out he'd had in a long, long while.

Then his phone rang.

Growling, he unslung his arm from Laura's shoulders and fished the cell phone out of the pocket of his skinny jeans. He flipped it open to stop the ungodly wailing of the Star Spangled Banner (really, he ought to change that git's ringtone, sometime), and held it up to his ear with some amount of coordination.

"_Arthur, we need to talk._" America began. England scoffed.

"What is it, you bloody git?" He growled, only slurring his words a tiny bit. "I was busy having fun, for a change."

"_…..you._" America repeated with an incredulous tone, train of thought momentarily derailed. "_Having fun? Wait, are you drunk?_"

"Only a little." England smirked. "Now what was sooooo important that it couldn't wait until a sensible hour?"

"_….find somewhere to sit first._" America suggested. England blinked, but found a nearby bench and pulled Laura over to it. His daughter followed without much objection, though she found it much more entertaining to climb the tree growing behind the bench and dangle off the branches by one leg than to actually sit.

England sobered up quickly as America explained - in as much detail as he could stand - what had occurred with the Bratva in the last 24 hours. Nathan's disappearance, his argument with Russia, and the call he'd placed to Laura earlier that day to get Konrad involved - America told England all of it. The European nation shot his drunk daughter (still dangling from the tree branch) a half-hearted glare. America had told her to keep the call quiet, or she just hadn't wanted to worried him.

Neither possibility had succeeded, as he was aware of the call and now more worried than ever.

"My God…" He muttered. "Is the poor boy alright?" England asked. He didn't get a quick response.

"_No….no, he isn't._" America replied after a moment of silence. "_I mean, he's healing fast and all, but….I don't think I want to know what those bastards did to him._" He sighed heavily. "_….the doctors'll let me take him home, like, tomorrow. I'm gonna introduce him to my states, then_."

"Your states." England repeated, not bothering to correct his former colony's grammar this time. "You do recall how he handled you being his father, right? How do you think he'll handle having fifty step siblings?" America chuckled dryly.

"_Probably not well…_" He admitted. "_But the Bratva snatched him right out of my house, England_." America paused. "_If I can't protect him by myself, then my states can help! Plus, I'm still trying to figure out what part of me Nathan is…_" America's thoughts turned to a less grim topic. "_He's not a state, and he can't speak Spanish, so he can't be Puerto Rico…._" England sighed.

"I'm sure you'll figure it out…" He rolled his eyes. "But that's not exactly priority, now is it?" He leaned back on the bench, only half-paying attention to Laura, who had now wandered off from the tree and was dancing in a nearby fountain. Well, she HAD chugged more alcohol than him, anyway.

"Listen…..get the boy home, and do whatever you think necessary to keep him safe. I'll call around and inform the others to be more careful….especially those with the littlest ones." England sighed. "With any luck, the Bratva won't be stupid enough to go after anyone else…." Something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye, and he sobered up immediately, shrieking and leaping up, forgetting to hang up the phone before one unfortunate sentence.

"LAURA! PUT YOUR BLOODY SHIRT BACK ON!"

* * *

And that, my faithful readers, is why Laura should not drink...with England.

1) **Kitsume Miyake** - Thanks a lot! XD Don't worry - the little ones have their own time to shine in the Bratva arc. I'm tempted to end "CotN" there, though, and start the next arc as a sequel. I'm not sure yet.

2) **LuckyNumbers**,** SunnyGreen** and - Yes. Let there be States. XD I'll probably only give speaking roles to a select few, and just mention the others (I can't handle 50 more OCs!).

3) **MattsyKunTehZebra** - Nooo! Then France will have no-one to call him Papa in public! D8 And Prussia will be without his 'awesome' minion! And…..well, actually, I can't see the harm in you marrying France. Except England coming after your soul. XD

4) **Palamecia** - Thanks! ^_^ Don't worry, Austria, Hungary, and Richard (I might as well name him now) will appear soon. To be honest, I'm still cementing his profile, and his relationship with his parents, and perhaps a few other Nationlings, since he is among the middle of the age group.

5) **NightWolfMoon** - Actually…that wasn't Alexi. XD But good! The identity is secret!


	37. Chapter 37

Staying in the White House wasn't as exciting as the average American citizen may think.

In fact, Nathan was quite sick of it, and he'd only been there for one day. It was eerily quiet in the hallways, everything was clean and organized and well-kept, and ever three minutes, someone in a suit and dark glasses kept checking in on him. As if Nathan would have gotten up and limped away. After the hospital in Pennsylvania had released him, America had insisted his son stay in the safest place in the country.

And while waiting for those plane tickets to come through, they were waiting at the White House.

The young man sighed and poked at the cast on his leg. It was really starting to itch, now. And bright pink. PINK. Why pink? The doctor had run out of all other colors. He only needed to have it on for a few days, but that was too long, in his opinion. It only reminded him of what he'd done - which was put every one of them in danger.

Nathan leaned back in his padded seat with a frown. He hadn't meant to endanger everyone…he'd just wanted the pain to stop. And now, because of his stupid pain threshold, everyone from Laura to Konrad to Benoit to Katja was in danger. Not to mention the nations themselves. He'd just put a massive international secret that had been kept for centuries at risk in a few short, painful hours.

Man, Laura was gonna kill him if the Bratva didn't beat her to it…

"Nattie!" America's hand clapped down on the boy's uninjured shoulder. "I got the tickets!" His father grinned. "All five of us leave tomorrow afternoon." Nathan blinked.

"Wait…..all…five?" He repeated. America laughed.

"Oh, right! I haven't introduced you all yet! Well, you know how me and the others represent countries?" He watched Nathan nod. "Well, states have the same thing!" America laughed. "I guess they'd be your step siblings!" Nathan's blank stare morphed into one of shock.

"….I have fifty step siblings?" He realized. America chuckled.

"Yeah, but you're only meeting three today." He grinned. "They're the only ones who still return my calls…everyone else is mad at me…" He made a face. "Um…I probably could have broken that news a little better….oh well…." The grin returned. "Come on!" He tugged Nathan after him. "They're waiting for us outside!"

Had he not been in the process of coming down the stairs, Nathan would have most certainly been floored by the exuberant state who rushed up to hug him. That aside, if his ribs had already healed, the overly-enthusiastic hug broke them again. Or, at least, it felt that way.

"HEY! You must be Nathan! Our new half brother!" The state grinned. Nathan gasped.

"Eh….I wouldn't call 59 years 'new', but-" He was cut off by what he now recognized as an enthusiastic young woman, a little shorter than him, who was painfully 'New Jersey'. Not 'Jersey Shore' Jersey. Just 'Jersey'.

"My name's Ashley! I'm the state of New Jersey!" She was suddenly shaking his hand with enough force to make his entire limb sore. "What state are you? Are you a territory? Are you a protectorate? _Are you a cult_?"

"Whoa, whoa, Ash', slow down!" America finally stepped in and separated the two (to Nathan's quiet relief). "No, he isn't a cult." He gave his state a look. "We're not sure what he represents, but I'll explain all that later." He smiled. "Where's Samuel? And Liza and Aiden?" Ashley shrugged.

"Well, something came up with Liza - one of her human friends bit it - but she'll show up later. Samuel's just late." She replied. "And you know Aiden, dad - he probably got caught up with the latest Broadway premier or something." Nathan blinked.

"Um….I'm assuming Liza, Samuel, and Aiden are also states…?" He guessed, sounding a little overwhelmed. Ashley grinned.

"Yup! Virginia, Pennsylvania, and New York, specifically." Ashley jumped up and threw her arm around the taller Nationling's shoulders, forcing him to bend down and stumble down the steps to keep his balance. "You'll love 'em - honest! Though Aiden's flaming, Liza's a hillbilly, and Sammy parties like you wouldn't BELIEVE-"

"OKAY let's move on." America cut in. "Ashley, don't badmouth your siblings. At least do it to their face so they have a chance to defend themselves." Ashley frowned.

"But they don't!"

"That's not my problem." America coughed. "Now, let's go. We need to cheer Nattie up, so we're going to the Flyers vs. Rangers game. Aiden will probably meet us there." Nathan blinked.

"Wait…game-?" He repeated. America cut him off.

"Yeah! You've been sulking too much. So I thought a family outing might cheer you up!" He grinned. "Now come on! We gotta beat the traffic!"

They met Aiden outside the stadium. He wasn't hard to miss, being the only person wearing NY Rangers gear in a see of Philadelphia orange and black. Nathan tried to hide his smirk, while America laughed out loud. His state glared. "Comment, and you die." He growled. "At least wait until after the game to mock me."

"Well Ady, that's what you get for wearing Rangers gear in Philly." Ashley cackled. Aiden growled, and America stepped between them.

"No fighting until you're inside the statium. Then security will have some place to throw you out of." He smirked. "Aiden, meet your half-brother-"

"Nathan!" His state interrupted him. "Nice to finally meet you! Are you really dating that Russian chick? Seriously? She sounds so-"

"Aiden, that's enough." America cut in. The state of New York pouted. New Jersey grinned triumphantly. Nathan sighed inwardly. This….was going to be an unusual 'family outing'….He was suddenly hemmed in by states, with Aiden hanging off one arm and Ashley turning into more of a crutch as he was dragged/limped into the stadium.

The game itself was eventful. Philadelphia fans were among the most violent in the nation, and NewYork fans weren't much better. Between chants of "Rangers Suck" and "start the bus", there were bad calls, fistfights, one bench-clearing brawl, and three game suspensions. Nathan would have had a lot of fun.

If he hadn't been cowering in his seat with his father between New York and Pennsylvania.

When he'd first met him, Samuel Jones hadn't looked at all vicious. In fact, he'd looked like more of a pushover than Aiden. And then the game had started, and suddenly, the soft-spoken Pennsylvanian had been screaming as loud as anyone in the stadium - taunting his brother, taunting the referees, and cheering on fights with a blood thirsty slur.

Nathan decided this wasn't very relaxing.

The young Nationling traded a glance with his father, who only offered a weak grin.

"Okay….so this wasn't my best idea…." America admitted. Nathan made a face.

"Go figure…." He muttered. America grinned.

"Don't worry, though! I've got a better idea for tomorrow!"


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter 38 is up, and I apologize for taking so long. Well, a lot of people have been asking for Austria's reaction to fatherhood...and here it is. XD It's a tad short, but I'm attempting to wrap up "CotN", as I feel this story has stretched on a little too far - all loose ends will be wrapped up in the sequel, "Territorial", which will pick up right where "CotN" leaves off.

* * *

Someone was playing his piano.

This wasn't such an unusual occurrence in Austria's home as one might think. Hungary often dabbled with the instrument when she visited, and Prussia (drunk or sober), was guaranteed to mess with the ivory keys at one point or another. On his more sober visits, if the albino had his children in tow, it would be played then, as well.

This time was different, however. The notes drifting through the air weren't of any style he recognized. Hungary's playing, though still a tad amateurish, was much more flowing and uniform. Prussia's playing (drunk or sober) was a wild bashing of the poor keys. Katja could only play "Twinkle,Twinkle, Little Star" and "Chopsticks"….of which this tune was neither.

The tune was of a mild pace, occasionally disjointed and broken every few notes, as if the performer were trying to remember something they hadn't played for a long while. Austria set down the book he'd been reading (after marking the page, of course), and rose from his chair, leaving the once-quiet foyer and turning down the hallway toward the ballroom, where the piano resided.

As he drew closer, the tune began to slow, and the notes became more hesitant, and wrong notes became increasingly common. After one particularly off-key note that made him cringe, Austria heard a whispery voice utter a soft German curse. The player had become frustrated, and obviously stopped trying to play, for the piano inside the ballroom fell silent.

"Oh, don't give up, honey! You almost had it." Austria stopped. That was Hungary's voice. But…who was she talking to? "Don't you give me that look, Richard. You were close - really!" Richard. Who was Richard? "Moving on….you wait here. I'll go and find Roderich." He heard footsteps approaching, and suddenly realized how close he'd crept to the door in that time. Austria had just enough time to straighten up and appear as if he hadn't just been eavesdropping before Hungary opened the door.

The doors flew open, narrowly missing the Austrian's nose and for a minute, he and Hungary just stared at each other. Then the woman broke into a smile. "Roderich! Just in time!" She grabbed his hand and pulled him into the ballroom. "There's someone I'd like you to meet!" Austria let himself be pulled inside, finally getting a look at this mystery musician man.

He looked familiar. Very familiar. The man had shoulder length auburn hair, pulled back into a very short ponytail at the base of his neck. Several locks of hair fell loose across a pale face, just slightly too short to stay tied back, and an odd-looking pair of thin-rimmed glasses, having slid down the nose, guarded a pair of bright violet eyes.

He was wearing a simple white undershirt, with an old, obviously comfortable grey shirt open over top, and a pair of worn denim jeans that were obviously several years old, with extra pockets sewn into the legs. A bunch of colorful Mini-Sharpies hung from a retractable clip on a worn belt loop. There were a few faded stains on the denim - Sharpie or paint, most likely. So, the man was an artist of some kind? Or just a creative handyman?

"Roderich," Hungary walked up to the other man, wearing a smile. "This is my-…our son, Richard." Richard smiled brightly and waved, the picture of cheerfullness Oh, so-

…..what?

"Roddy…?" Hungary prodded cautiously. Richard's smile faded and he stopped waving, his expression growing wary - and just a little hurt - when Austria didn't respond. Concern and hurt feelings quickly turned to shock as the Austrian man collapsed to the floor. Hungary muttered a curse and quickly rushed forward. Richard helped her lift the unconscious Austria onto the couch against the wall, then gave his mother a confused look. Hungary sighed.

"I should have expected that…or at least had some pillows ready." She gave Richard an apologetic smile. "I guess we'll try again when he wakes up." Richard made a face, and sighed a little dramatically. Hungary patted his shoulder. "Here, you stay here with your father. I'll go and make us some ?." With a gentle smile, she walked to the kitchen.

* * *

Again, he woke up to music.

The same slow, hesitant, broken tune he'd followed from the foyer. But this time it was closer - right in the room with him. Austria cracked his eyes open and found himself staring at the ballroom ceiling. Why-…oh, right. He remembered now. The nation sat up quietly and looked around. Hungary was gone, but Richard was sitting on the piano bench, light fingers tapping hesitantly at the ivory bars.

He wasn't confident in his playing - not in the least. Richard wore a contorted look of mixed dismay and concentration, cringing every time he struck the wrong note and scrambling to fix it. He looked very much like a child at a recital who'd forgotten the piece they'd been practicing all week. After one last harsh missed note (which made both the room's occupants cringe), Richard gave a throaty sort of frustrated growl and pushed back from the piano.

"You weren't that far off, you know." Richard spun around, shock reflected in his violet eyes as Austria stood up and walked over, sitting down on the other side of the bench. "You're just thinking too hard about it." Richard blinked. They were the same height, roughly, when sitting down. "Focus on the tune itself…" Austria advised. "Close your eyes…can you hear it in your mind?" Purple eyes shielded beneath their lids, Richard focused. A soft smile came to his face and he nodded. "Good. Now, keep your eyes closed…" Austria guided Richards hands up onto the keys, setting his fingertips on the ivory carefully. "…now play."

Richard obeyed, his fingers moving over the keys in a much more confident, carefree manner. Austria smiled softly. He could recognize the tune, now. It was still slow, but it was familiar nonetheless. As the notes rose and fell, Hungary reentered, carrying a tray of ?. She stopped short, a smile to match Austria's blooming on her face as she quietly set down the tray and walked over to join the two. After a minute of playing, Richard began to hum quietly. His voice wasn't very loud at all - barely enough to be discernible from the singing of the piano. Hungary placed a hand on Austria's shoulder, smiling.

"_Tente, baba, tente…_" She sang as the tune began to repeat. "_A szemedt hunyd be. Aludj, ingó-bingó, kicsi rózsabimbo. Alszik az ibolya, csicsíja babája…_" A moment later, Richard's hand slipped, and the moment ground to a halt with the harsh ring of a wrong note. The young man made a show of throwing his hands in the air. Hungary laughed, and even Austria gave a small chuckle.

"Well, you had it for a moment, at least…."

* * *

I'm on the lookout for fellow author-artists who would be willing to do a trade of sorts? Fanart of the 'Nationlings' in the various styles of the readers, in exchange for a written request here on , a cameo in "Territorial", or an art request on DA. Would anyone be interested? Say so in a review or PM, please!


	39. Chapter 39

Chapter 39! I'm sorry it took me so long to get to this point! XD

* * *

Their next 'bonding experience' wasn't much better.

After the general stress of trying to get five people with no real organizational skills to the airport, through security, and on the flight, Aiden proudly announced their next destination: The Big Apple, of course. And he already had five tickets for "The Lion King". The general group attitude was excitement as they deplaned and mobbed baggage claim. As Nathan picked up his single backpack from the conveyer, however, he felt a knot of unease twisting in his stomach.

Broadway meant big theaters, lots of people in costume, and dark seating areas. Anyone with a costume could sneak in under the low lighting, especially if they were trained. Then, hardly anon would notice a commotion in the crowd if it happened fast, at a climax in the music. Besides, the audience was all focused entirely on the actors - something like that wouldn't be noticed. Something like that was unlikely….

….and right up the Bratva's ally.

Alfred reached back and grabbed Nathan's wrist, pulling him forward gently as they headed for the parking lot. Aiden had already arranged for a cab (two, actually) to pick them all up. Since they were only staying in the city for a day or two, and Aiden's city apartment was only a two bedroom, they would be sharing a hotel room near time square.

All five of them.

Except Ashley. She got her own room.

So technically, all four of them, since Virginia wasn't coming.

The cab ride there was uneventful in itself. After sitting in city traffic for god-knows-how-long, they finally reached the hotel, got everyone checked in, and crashed. They still had an hour or so until the show, and even though they'd never crossed any other timezones, Nathan used the excuse of jetlag to spread out on the couch. Either Alfred didn't understand, or he understood more than he let on, and left the young man alone. Aiden raised an eyebrow, then Samuel smacked his brother upside the head and told him to 'leave the poor boy alone'.

Alfred pushed Aiden and Samuel out of the room to finish their fight in the hallway, and Ashley retreated to the relative sanity of her separate room. Once the doors had closed, the room fell under a blissful silence…despite the sounds of Aiden and Samuel screaming about yesterday's game down the hallway. Nathan had his eyes closed as he heard his father approaching, and then the other couch cushion compressed as he sat down.

"Nattie? You feeling okay?" Alfred asked. Nathan was silent for a long minute before he curled up into a ball on the couch. He mumbled something that was muffled by the arms in front of his face. Alfred sighed. "Nattie, I can't hear you."

"I said no…" Nathan spoke up, a little louder. "I've…been thinking a lot…about how far the Bratva went just to get me…" The young man curled up a little tighter. "And how I put everyone else in danger."

"Nuh uh." Alfred denied quickly, frowning. "You didn't put everyone in danger, Nathan. Not on purpose." He reached over and patted his son's shoulder. "You've never been in that kind of situation. Anyone else would have done the same thing." Nathan wasn't consoled.

"But it wasn't anyone else, it was me." He groaned. "And I gave up probably the biggest secret in the world because I can't take a little pain." Alfred's eyes darkened.

"No, Nathan. That wasn't just 'a little pain'." He replied sternly. Nathan peeked out from behind his arm-shield. "You probably don't remember this…in fact, you probably can't remember much of those last hours at all…" Alfred frowned. "You died, Nattie. In my arms, you died. I told you you were dying, and then I had to watch it. You took so long to wake up….I thought you weren't coming back." Alfred pulled his son up into a sitting position and hugged him gently. "No-one blames you for what you did," He explained. "So stop beating yourself up for it, okay?"

"….okay." Nathan smiled quietly against his father's jacket. Alfred grinned.

"Good boy." He patted Nathan's hair, only to have his hand half-heartedly swatted away.

"Dad! I'm not a dog!" Nathan laughed. Alfred just grinned. His plan had worked perfectly.

* * *

Meanwhile, thousands of miles away…beyond mountains and valleys and rivers…across an ocean and numerous international boarders, someone in Russia was getting sick. Very sick. For the fourth time that morning.

"Sveta?" Ukraine tentatively knocked on the bathroom door. "Are you alright in there?" Her response was a gurgling, hacking cough. Ukraine bit her lip. "It wasn't something you ate, was it? Oh, I knew I should have made pelmeny instead!"

"Nyet….nyet, Тетя…it was not your cooking…" There was a shuffling sound on the other side of the door, and Svetlana opened it, looking pale and wiping her mouth with a handcloth. She gave her eldest aunt a weak smile. "Can you keep a secret, Тетя?" Her smile grew, despite the pallid tone of her cheeks. "I took the test this morning, before you woke….I'm pregnant!" Ukraine broke out into a wide smile. So it wasn't her cooking - it was just morning sickness!

"Oh, Sveta! That is wonderful!" She laughed, bouncing in place excitedly with a 'boing, boing'. "Have you told Nathan yet? Or brother?" Svetlana shook her head.

"Nyet, I just found out this morning. Nathan doesn't know yet….and you can't tell отец - not yet. He might try to hurt Nathan!" Svetlana made a face. "Technically, we aren't even married yet!"

"Oh? Why not?" Ukraine frowned. "I thought for sure you would be…"

"Oh, I'd love to be…" Svetlana sighed, her smile returning. "But Nathan has this manly 'thing' about being the one to propose. He's been saving everything he can for the last decade just to buy a ring, even with Alexi's debts. I know he wants to be chivalrous and everything, but honestly, I wish he'd just pop the damn question already!"

"Did someone mention брак?" Svetlana and Ukraine both squeaked and spun around to find Belarus standing at the end of the hallway. The platinum blonde wore her usual poker face. "племянница, are you finally going to marry the American?" She asked. Svetlana straightened up a little.

"Chivalry be damned, yes. Yes I will." She paused. "…right after I'm done throwing up." The young woman rushed back into the bathroom, slamming the door. Moments later came the all-too-familiar sound of someone emptying their stomach of all its contents. Ukraine made a face.

"I think I'll go and get her some Ginger Ale...It might help settle her stomach…" She thought out loud.

"So, she has morning sickness?" Belarus deduced, putting together the illness, prior excitement, and talk of marriage. Ukraine covered her mouth with a gasp. So much for keeping a secret.

"You must not tell brother, sister! Not yet! Sveta has to get Nathan to propose first!" She pleaded. Belarus pried her sister's hand off her mouth.

"And why shouldn't I tell? It is not my fault she got pregnant before marriage." Ukrain made a pleading face.

"Because she is your only niece and you love her…?" She tried. Belarus narrowed her eyes.

* * *

It's official. Russia is going to kill Nathan. XD I'm on the lookout for fellow author-artists who would be willing to do a trade of sorts? Fanart of the 'Nationlings' in the various styles of the readers, in exchange for a written request here on , a cameo in "Territorial", or an art request on DA. Would anyone be interested? Say so in a review or PM, please!


	40. Chapter 40

Not the longest chapter...but not the shortest, either. Please forgive the long delay, but I was plagued by sequel ideas. I finally just sat down and wrote this - I hope it ties things up nicely for you all! Feel free to PM me if you have any questions.

* * *

The car that pulled into the driveway of the secret Bratva residence was met with the usual caution and suspicion. Guns drawn, the guards posted around the house crept in as a driver stepped out and moved around to the backseat passenger door. Trying not to get shot, the nervous driver opened the door and shakily gestured for the passenger to step out. And step out she did.

The guards all raised a simultaneous eyebrow at the slim, tanned woman who slid out of the car. With slim red gloves, a deep red, V-neck top, and a long, slim red skirt, she dressed more for a upper-class catillian than for a visit to a mafia stronghold. Nonetheless, her white smile was simultaneously frightening and cold. A few of the guards stepped back as the woman stepped forward, allowing her driver to close the door.

"You will take me to see Alexi Iconovitch." She commanded in Russian, walking straight up to one of the guards. The man gulped and glanced at his companions for assistance, but none of them wanted to come closer. "I'm sorry, did I not speak clearly?" The woman inquired, her eyes hardening, though her smile never wavered.

"N-no, no, miss…" The guard stuttered, backing away. "H-he is right this way….but he is currently busy with-"

"I don't care." The woman swept past the guard, her heels clicking on the flagstone path. "You will take me to him, and he will see me." The guard blinked, scrambling to think of a comeback. Unable to make one, he looked around for support - but the other guards had all retreated to the relative safety of their posts. The driver, the only one left standing there, shrugged apologetically. The guard sighed and hurried after the woman.

"Yes, ma'am….may I inquire as to who wishes to see Alexi, so that I may announce you properly?" He asked, half out of necessity and half out of curiosity. The woman smiled coldly.

"You may simply call me 'La Asesina'. It is the most well known of my names." She replied. The guard nodded quietly. 'La Asesina'…no, he hadn't heard of her. But if she was anyone important, Alexi would have. He led the woman into the heart of the house, toward Alexi's study. He asked her to wait while he announced her, and slipped into the study, closing the door quickly. Alexi looked up from the book he'd been reading with a frown.

"I thought I asked not to be disturbed." He growled. The guard gulped.

"I'm sorry, sir…but there is a woman here to see you. She calls herself…'La Asesina'." Years later, the guard would realize that the look that dawned over Alexi's face was one of fear, and then resignation. The aging Bratva leader sighed and closed his book, not bothering to mark the page.

"Alright…." He stood up and crossed the room, pulling another book down from a shelf. This book was hardcover, with the once-golden lettering fading away. Across the cover was a leather strap, and an old, rusty lock kept it shut. Alexi walked to the guard and handed him the book. "Send La Asesina in, please….then make sure this is sent to my daughter." He ordered. The guard nodded and left the room with the book.

"Ma'am," He addressed the woman. "Alexi will see you now." La Asesina smiled, and walked into the room. The guard hurriedly walked away. The faster he could put distance between himself and that creepy woman, the better.

Five hours passed before anyone had the nerve to knock on the study door again. No response was given - not even a command to leave. Suspicious, the butler who'd knocked summoned a few of the guards, who had to break into the now-locked study. When they finally broke into the room, they found a shocking sight.

The bookshelves were emptied, their contents hurled about the room like toys. Alexi's desk drawers were wide open, and every important document was gone. The window stood wide open, with the curtains swaying in the spring breeze, Alexi himself was sprawled across the floor, surrounded by the shattered pieces of the ceramic bear that had once stood upon his desk, and his own blood. The pencil that had killed him stuck out of his forehead still, like some gruesome flag of victory for the killer.

The guards rushed to action immediately, but nothing could be done to save their leader. They started an investigation, sent out squad after squad, and diverted nearly all of the Bratva's attention in the search for 'La Asesina'. But after six months of exhaustive searching, they were able to find nothing.

Eight month's after Alexi's death, a woman named Catherine Carriedo walked onto the scene. She took control of the still-in-shambles Bratva, adding them to an extensive network of international organizations she controlled, under the name of 'Mano de Hierro'. Within the month, Catherine had the newest branch of 'Mano de Hierro' running smoothly, though she never shared the organization's goals with the 'elected' branch leaders of the former Bratva.

As she sat in her office, desk covered with organized stacks of status reports and intel from numerous branches posted worldwide, Catherine Carriedo began to smile to herself. She reached into her shirt and pulled a small key out of her bra. Bending down in her chair, she unlocked the drawer at the bottom of her desk and slid it open. She pulled out a large folder, closed the drawer, and replaced the key. Flipping the folder open, the woman chuckled.

"Laura Archer." She read the name at the top of the last file Alexi had added before his 'unfortunate' murder. "It's been a long time, hasn't it, _mi amigo de larga duración_?" She spread the pages of the folder out across her desk, revealing five more names, including that of Alexi's 'daughter'. "My, my…you've gathered quite the little flock, haven't you?" She mused to herself, smiling. "Poor little sheep….they have no idea what their future has in store…"

* * *

"Children of the Nation" is OVER! I know a lot of things weren't addressed or wrapped up, but hey, I need material for the sequel! Yes, Catherine's last name should sound very familiar...also, the fanart offer still stands! If you draw fanart of "CotN", I will draw/write you anything (almost - I do have limits) you'd like! But I do have one thing to add...to the person who requested some Fem!Canada and Germany...what was your penname again? I'm sorry, but I accidentally deleted your note! Forgive me! :(


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